


The Royal Guardians - Beta Edition

by Paranoid_Pug



Category: Original Work
Genre: Action, Elves, Faeries - Freeform, Fantasy, Found Family, Guardians - Freeform, Hidden World, I will probably add more tags as I go, Magic, Modern Fantasy, Original work - Freeform, Strong Female Characters, The Royal Guardians, beta, female main character, in need of feedback, the mark, this got surprisingly dark, unedited
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-18 09:48:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 21
Words: 53,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28865055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paranoid_Pug/pseuds/Paranoid_Pug
Summary: Being a Royal Guardian is not exactly the best of jobs out there. Sure, the pay is good and you get free accommodation, but you're life expectancy tends to drop pretty drastically when you spend your days hunting monsters and protecting the world from supernatural threats. So excuse Thalia if she's a little on edge when a pair of 13-year-old kids are appointed as the newest members of their rag-tag group of warriors. She's still reeling after how the positions opened up in the first place, after all.To make matters worse, Tara Willows and her sister Natasha happen to drop in at a pretty bad time for the Guardians, with a millennia-old witch resurfacing to wreak havoc in the magic wielder and human communities alike.So yeah. These kids probably aren't going to last too long.___This version is the beta for an original novel I am currently writing, so some parts the writing may be a little... iffy. Any feedback is much appreciated for when I begin editing, as this is still in the first draft. I'd love to know which bits flow well, or which don't flow at all, or if there are any plot holes etc. so feel free to yell at me for spelling mistakes or the like, as that is what I'm aiming to fix. XD
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, Pug here. As I mentioned in the summary, this is the beta edition of an original work I am writing. These first couple of chapters may be a little... eeehhhhh, as I wrote them a few years ago and haven't yet been back to edit, but once the story gets started I'm hoping things will be a little better. As such, I'm looking for any feedback you might have on how to make these opening chapters less cheesy. Overall, there are some chapters I'm very proud of and some I re-read and cringe at. So... sorry in advance. :)  
> Also if anyone knows how to embed art and stuff could you let me know because I also have illustrations. XD

The forest was still, shadowed by an unnatural darkness. Somewhere among its trees, a baby began to cry. The forest reached out, desperate, but the darkness dragged at its branches, preventing it from stretching into the burnt-out clearing where a still figure loomed. It had been a week since he had last appeared, since blood had stained the forest’s roots. Now it stained his skin, dried like rust against dark scales. With their last breaths the forest’s children had banished him, but he was back, his black aura pervading every tree.  
His footsteps left spreading burns across the ground, his presence draining the environment of its colour. There were no Guardians to protect the forest’s heart now. It’s children had returned to the forest’s earth, giving new life to their successors, but they were not yet ready. The baby’s crying grew louder.  
No, the forest would have to protect itself. 

Vines sprouted across the cliff-face, pushing against the darkness.  
The intruder snarled and dived for the entrance, but the vines spread quicker at the forest’s whim, glowing flowers blooming like bloodstains along them. The cave opening in the cliff-face quickly disappeared behind a wall of plants, the faint glow of the forest’s heart inside eclipsed by the flickering light of the flame-like flowers.  
The intruder’s roar shook the trees, but no amount of clawing could break the forest’s barrier. It’s heart was safe for today.  
Still the baby wailed in the distance.

Slowly, the monster turned, new intent glinting darkly in his blood-red eyes. Jagged teeth split a wicked smile across his face. Realising his path, the forest frantically dragged at his ankles, begging him to stop, but its energy was wasted on protecting itself and it could do nothing.  
The demon approached the two cradles nestled in the forest’s roots. His wicked smile grew.

“You may protect yourself now,” he hissed, looking out to the forest as if he knew it watched on helpless. “But in ten years your power will lie in these two. Your Guardians.” He began to chuckle, the deep, grinding sound spurring further tears from the crying child. The other lay silent, bright blue eyes wide and afraid in her cradle, a tiny hand clutching a crystal pendant around her neck. “And without your Guardians,” he grinned, reaching a clawed hand towards the child’s crystal, “You are vulnerable.”  
_You cannot kill them._  
The forest’s voice echoed through its trees. It rarely spoke, but when it did it spoke from every branch and every leaf.  
_Their death will return them to my earth, and I will give birth to more. The cycle will continue. You cannot stop it._  
The demon’s chuckles shook the leaves again.  
“I don’t have to. Your cycle will be your own undoing, for as long as they live, they are your only children. And your only children shall live cursed.”  
_NO!_  
“Yes,” he hissed. Dread bled through every root as the demon reached towards the crying child. A blood-red glow sparked from his taloned fingers as he caressed her tear-stained cheek.  
“As the forest lives,” he growled, locking eyes with the trees around him. “So shall she live. As the forest dies, so shall she die,”  
_No!_ The forest begged, but he wasn’t finished, his growling curse growing to almost a shout.  
“As the forest bleeds, so shall she feel its pain!”  
The monster slammed his claws into the trunk of a nearby tree, shredding its flesh and bathing in its sap which streamed down his arm. The child screamed, writhing in her crib, and the monster’s grotesque smile only grew. He plucked the crystal from the other child’s neck and held it before his beady eyes, squinting through its glow.  
“It seems fitting, don’t you think, that the child whose life is tied to yours should keep the only thing able to save you,” the demon said to the forest, placing the necklace in the cursed girl’s cradle. “Since she’s the only one who can’t actually use it now.” 

The forest was lost for words, and the demon revelled in its silence. Greif weighed down its branches, numbness turning leaves black.  
The demon moved on to the other girl, still silent, now shaking in her blankets. Clawed hands swiped her from her cradle and held her too tight for the forest’s comfort.  
“I like this one,” he grinned. Pointed teeth spilled out over his shrivelled lips as black flames began to flicker around him. “She’s quiet. I think I’ll take her with me.”  
And then the flames rose to cover his towering form, and he, and the forest’s daughter, were gone. 

The forest’s anguished scream shook every tree. Birds took to the sky in squawking waves, but the forest barely noticed. It called out, pushing, spreading its roots past its borders, begging every inch of nature it could reach to help.  
_Where did he take her? Where is my child? Help me! Help me look!_

It was days before anything was heard. Finally, a lily flower sent word; It had seen the girl. A tall, long-haired man with blood-red eyes, thought to be the demon in disguise, had visited a human orphanage. On the steps, he had left a bundle and a birth certificate. A tuft of bright red hair was all that was visible from the child’s swaddle. The lily could not tell what curse had been placed on her, but it could no longer sense the forest’s power within her. 

Several days later, a rich businessman and his wife arrived at the orphanage, followed by a crowd of paparazzi which trampled the lily’s petals. With fake smiles, they chose the quiet red-haired child, and raised her for the cameras to admire. She was to be their eighth child - the youngest and only adopted. 

_She will be safe with them,_ the forest whispered. _One day she will find her way home, but until then, I shall watch her grow from afar._

And so the two sisters grew up apart, one raised in the forest’s care, another just out of its reach. And when the time came, and the demon returned, they were there together waiting for him.  
The Forest of Life’s children may have been cursed, but they were also strong. The demon Abisinthe did not return to destroy the forest again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I... don't really like this chapter.

Sand spilled across the floor, mixing with the beads of sweat that poured down Thalia’s face as she trained. Her blade whirled through the air in precise, practiced motions, slicing through the hanging sacks of sand like they were nothing more than air.  
Training had always calmed her; to just lose herself to the routine motions, to air her frustrations and angers until she was too tired to rage anymore. Today though…

Thalia slammed her blade into the wooden neck of a dummy, where it snagged in place. She yelled, something incoherent, and yanked it free with both hands before lowering it in resigned exhaustion. She was panting, shaking, her muscles aching from overuse, but the worry inside her still burned strong. Today’s training had done nothing to relieve that.  
Thalia cursed and sheathed her sword, swearing under her breath as her shaking hands repeatedly missed the scabbard. She glanced back at the piles of sand that littered the training room floor, shrugging to herself. She could clean that up later.

The cold shower left her shivering, but the ache in her shoulders had eased. The shuddering cold and the hiss of the water gave her something else to focus on aside from the chaos of thoughts that were swirling inside her mind.

Why weren’t they back yet? Rose and Bella had gone on patrol over a week ago and still hadn’t returned. Normally, this wouldn’t have worried Thalia too much; Guardians like her had an annoying habit of getting side-tracked on assignments. One would finish, another would pop up on the way home. That was just part of the job. No, their lateness wasn’t what worried her. Rose and her sister could no doubt handle anything to come unexpectedly their way. Rose, after all, had taught Thalia everything she knows. What worried her was that Titania, who could sense the location of any individual in her Kingdom, had lost track of the pair. Titania, Queen of the faerie realm, who for three millennia had honed her tracking specialty, could no longer sense their presence on this earth or any other.  
It had been over a week, and no amount of adrenalin or exhaustion could scrub the fear from Thalia’s mind. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

“Thalia, you need to come with me.”  
A husky voice prompted Thalia to drop her towel from her head, leaving her drenched black bangs to drip all over her T-shirt. The speaker, her sister Astrid, stood in the doorway, her eyes darkened in concern. Thalia raised a single eyebrow.  
“You…” Astrid hesitated, adjusting her glasses to hold back her choppy dyed fringe. “You may not like what you see.”

Well. If that didn’t raise instant warning bells, she didn’t know what did.

Astrid led her hurriedly to the front steps of the building where the boarding house’s residents had begun to gather and… No, Oh please, no.

A glowing symbol was hovering above the small crowd, who stared at a pair of ornate silver circlets at the base of the stairs. There was a sword too, and a pair of crossed sai knives laid in front like some sort of offering.  
Thalia pushed past the group frantically.  
“Where are they?” she whispered. Maybe it was from exhaustion, but her legs felt strangely weak. She couldn’t remember falling, but suddenly she was on her knees, grasping the hilt of the ornate katana. “Where’s Rose?” she breathed. “Where are Bella and Rose?”

The gems in the circlets began to glow.

*

“Do you think maybe this time we can have one birthday without something weird happening?” Natasha groaned playfully with a cat-like stretch. The sun was lazily rising above the forest skyline, sending mottled patterns flickering through the leaves and across the ground.  
“Not now that you’ve said that,” Tara replied with mock seriousness. “You’ve jinxed it.”

It was October. The sun was shining, spring had sprung, and Natasha and her sister were now officially teenagers. Which meant Natasha could now indulge in all the teenage perks, such as excessive sarcasm and eye-rolling, staying up past 8 and crushing on boys. Not that she actually knew any boys to have a crush on. It’s kinda hard to meet people when you’ve lived in a secluded magic forest your whole life.  
Tara, Natasha’s little sister (little being used only in the sense that Natasha was almost a foot taller than her.) cheekily prodded Nat’s arm.  
“Next thing you know, it’ll be raining purple,” she grinned.

In past years, the pair’s birthdays had often been interrupted by the animals of the forest deciding to do something random, like the time a wombat decided to attack Nat’s boots thinking they were a rival, or when the unicorns tried fencing with a tree and got their horns stuck. Still, when Natasha made a joke about weird occurrences, she wasn’t expecting to jinx things quite so badly.  
Anyway, crazy marsupials aside, birthdays were times to have fun and spend time with her sister, and that was exactly what Natasha intended to do.

The trees blurred past, leaves whispering in the breeze as Natasha ran, each foot carefully placed on the thick branches so she wouldn’t fall. The rustling behind her was getting closer and every-so-often she would catch a glimpse of red among the green or hear a twig snap at an ill-timed jump. She was getting faster. Natasha had always been able to keep ahead of her, but lately she hadn’t been far behind at all.  
“TAG!” Tara squealed, catching Natasha off guard. The tiny red-head had swung in from the side, cutting off Nat’s path and she tripped, stumbling off her branch with a muffled shriek.  
“Whoops,” Tara winced and snapped out her hand. Vines lashed out from the tree and wrapped themselves around Natasha, catching her before she could fall. “Sorry.”  
“You’re getting good at that, you know,” Nat replied as the vines pulled her up. She noticed small red flowers still bloomed randomly along the creepers whenever Tara used her powers. Tiny puffs of flame licked at their petals, yet they were simply warm to the touch and smelled vaguely of burning spices.  
“I’ve been practicing,” her sister smiled shyly. Natasha had heard of faeries naturally specialising in certain fields of magic. She suspected Tara’s specialties might relate to nature, like her own, and by the looks of things, fire. Natasha was a water girl, herself, so it made sense for the twins to specialise in opposites.

Suddenly Tara was alert, her eyes wide, as though she had heard something approaching. Natasha heard no such thing, but a strange tingling had started to crawl up her back, right about where her wings were folded away.  
And then the forest disappeared.

Natasha was falling, tumbling onto the cold hard tiles of a place she didn’t recognise in front of people she didn’t know, and Tara was there falling too, hitting the ground with a muted squeak. Panic crept into the corners of her vision, and a pair of rough, calloused hands grasped her shoulders. She lashed out, shoving the figure away and kicking at anything in reach, the sound of her shouts reaching her ears as though from afar.  
The figure swore and grasped at her leg.  
“She kicked me in the shin!” the girl yelled indignantly. Her choppy black hair was hanging in her face, but Natasha could have sworn her dark eyes flashed a violent blue.  
“I can see that, Thalia,” an older woman said calmly, a faint smile playing upon her lips.

Tara was on her feet behind Nat, her eyes wide and darting. Natasha could feel the heat from her hands as they sparked feebly with her anxiety. The dark-haired girl eyed Nat’s sister warily for a moment, then seemed to dismiss the tiny puffs of magic as either harmless or insignificant.  
“Titania, they’re children,” Thalia huffed matter-of-factly. “Children, Titania. They barely look older than twelve.”  
“We’re thirteen today, actually,” Natasha snapped, then shrank inwardly as the older girl glared scathingly her way, a large pair of stormy feathered wings flaring out behind her. Natasha could have sworn she heard a thunderclap in the distance. Tara shrank towards the wall.  
“Thalia,” Titania warned.  
“You expect these two children to replace Rose and Bella?” Thalia continued to rage, her wings disappearing behind her. “You expect two kids to take up the mantle of Royal Guardian?”  
“Thalia,” the older woman repeated, slightly stronger.  
“They won’t last a week.” Thalia’s tone became deadly calm. “No Guardian has been chosen this young for a reason. You know that.”  
“The Mark has spoken.”  
“Then the Mark is wrong.”  
“Thalia!” Titania snapped, but the girl with the choppy hair was still fuming. “I know that you and Rose were close, but their circlets have glowed. It is time to choose their successors.”  
“Oh for goodness sake! One of them has noodles for arms!” She gestured angrily at Tara, whose pale cheeks momentarily flushed pink.  
“Enough.”

Natasha hadn’t noticed before, but there were other people in the room. A tall young woman with short spiky hair dyed blue at the tips and a camo T-shirt strode from the corner towards Thalia.  
“I don’t like this any more than you do,” she continued with her arms crossed. “But Queen Titania is right.”  
“I’m sorry.” Natasha finally decided to speak up. Her practically non-existent patience was wearing thin and Tara was getting closer and closer to hugging the wall. “But what the heck is going on?”

And that was how Natasha discovered that she and Tara had been chosen to become Royal Guardians.

*

The Royal Guardians. An elite force of skilled magic Wielders, chosen by an omnipotent magical force known as the Mark in order to protect the magical realms. Thalia had been part of the Guardians since she was fifteen, which was, at the time, the youngest age one could be chosen at. Until now, apparently.

They hadn’t found Rose or Bella’s bodies. There hadn’t been time to look. As soon as the circlets began to glow, the induction ceremony had been scheduled for the next day, giving Thalia only enough time to collapse onto her bed and cry until her tear-ducts dried up.  
When a Royal Guardian is no longer able to complete service, their circlet will glow to signal that a new Guardian has been chosen to succeed them. To replace them. Rose and Bella were being replaced by two children.

They didn’t look like much. Twins, apparently. The one that kicked Thalia, Natasha, was about a head taller than her sister and had long flowing locks of bright red hair which ran in loose waves down her back and was braided off her face. She had an athletic build, at least, with already prominent curves for her age, and a square, freckled face. Her clothes were a mix of floaty hippy-chick and bikie, with a loose flowing blue dress patterned with mandalas and multiple necklaces, coupled with a leather jacket and buckled combat boots.  
Her sister, Tara, the one that kept gravitating towards the wall, had a short curvy figure with arms like sticks and skin that looked way too pale to be healthy. Her fiery auburn hair was richer in colour than her sister’s, which only exaggerated her paleness, and was pulled back in a neat French braid. She wore what appeared to be a leather wrist brace on her right hand and a plain green singlet, some battered jeans and tall lace-up boots. She too also wore multiple necklaces, one a striking crystal pendant that shone different colours under the light. Band-aids speckled her bare arms, like she’d tripped over a dozen times on the way here. Great. The Mark brought them a klutz.  
Thalia was sure they’d both be dead within a week.

“You have been chosen to bear the Mark of the Guardian,” Queen Titania explained formally, while Thalia silently fumed in the background. “It will be your job to act as protectors of the magical world, keeping peace between Wielders and humans and protecting both from darkness. Obviously, the Mark has chosen you two for a reason.” Titania continued pointedly, shooting a glare in Thalia’s direction. “What Protectorate do you currently guard?”  
Probably the Field of Pointless Pansies, or something equally insignificant, Thalia thought bitterly. Yeah, she was being unfair, she knew. These two hadn’t done anything to her. They at least deserved her kindness, given they weren’t likely to live much longer. But Thalia wasn’t exactly feeling up to coddling some newbies right now. Her eyes still felt raw, her throat dry from crying.  
Both Tara and Natasha appeared confused.  
“Protectorate?” the taller girl asked quietly.  
Thalia frowned. How did they not know what a Protectorate was? Come to think of it, they didn’t seem to recognise the term Royal Guardians, either. Had they been living under a rock their whole lives?  
“Your sanctuary, dear,” Titania supplied. “The location you currently protect.”  
Their eyes widened with understanding. Tara’s small hand rose to grasp her crystal necklace.  
“It’s called the Forest of Life,” Natasha supplied.

Wait, what? Thalia did a double take. Did they just say the Forest of Life?  
“The Forest of Life?” Thalia repeated, suddenly dumbfounded. “As in, the source of all faerie magic Forest of Life? The most heavily protected, well hidden, powerful Forest of Life?”  
“Uh… yeah? That one?” Natasha replied slowly.  
“No way.” Thalia’s jaw dropped. No wonder they didn’t know anything. Most Forest Guardians never leave the Protectorate. If it were destroyed, all faerie magic would cease to exist. Faeries would fall from the sky, kingdoms would fall, Protectorates all around the world would be vulnerable. And it was trusted to these two kids.  
Maybe they’d last two weeks, then.

Thalia glanced down at the ornate circular marking on the inside of her left wrist.  
I hope you’ve made the right decision, Mark, she thought. I can’t bear to watch another friend die young.  
The lights dimmed around the room, and the two new recruits received their own Guardian’s mark.  
“Welcome to the Royal Guardians, girls,” Titania announced.

Another tear rolled down Thalia’s cheek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh yeah, I also have a tumblr, if anyone's interested in seeing any of the art for this story, along with the random ramblings I post alongside it.   
> https://firelilyart.tumblr.com/


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like I said, the early chapters need a bit of work. Some bits are fine, others can get a bit cheesy or move too fast.

If being plucked from your home in a burst of strange light and landing in a strange building with a bunch of strange people wasn’t strange enough, Tara was now moving in with them.  
Alenya House was a large castle-like boarding house, with vast garden grounds ringed with mountains and a mess of signposts at every exit. Some said things like ‘Melbourne’ or ‘Little River’, while others were painted with ‘Mists of Time’ and ‘The Rainbow Gateway’. Tara assumed the gates led to all sorts of places. Physics was strange when magic was involved.  
The house itself looked large enough that Tara was worried she’d often get lost. Thalia only worsened that worry by telling her the layout regularly changed. ‘The house is sentient,’ she had said. ‘Sometimes it likes to switch things up.’  
The walls at the moment were rendered in pale lilac, however Tara had been informed that the week before they were canary yellow. She was beginning to feel a little sick.

“Drop off your bags in your room, then meet me in the gym,” Thalia said, leaving her at the door. “If you’re going to survive more than a week, we need to train you up.”  
“Uh… where is my…” Tara began, fading off mid-sentence. “Aaannd she’s gone. Great. Now how do I find my way?”  
Natasha had been lucky enough to get Astrid as her guide. The colourful-haired elf may not have been overly friendly, but at least she was decent enough to show Nat around. Tara, on the other hand, had got Thalia as her guide and apparently by extension, trainer. Something told her she’d be wanting to find out where the band-aids were stashed pretty quickly.

“Are you lost?”  
Tara jumped at the quiet voice and turned to face a girl with long flowing blonde hair and kind eyes. They were slightly puffy round the edges though, like she’d been crying.  
“Oh,” Tara squeaked. She recognised the girl from the induction. She was another of the six Royal Guardians. “It’s Luna, isn’t it?”  
“Yep,” she replied airily. “Can I help you find your room?”  
“Oh, uh, yes please, if you could, please?” Tara stuttered, sighing internally at her mess of a sentence. She was never really good at interacting with new people.  
Luna turned and breezed inside, and after a minute Tara realised she was meant to follow her. The older girl seemed to float down the corridor, her hair blowing gently behind her in some phantom breeze. She led her through what seemed like a maze of hallways, and Tara tried desperately to memorize each turn, but it was all in vain. She remembered that soon they would change again anyway and wondered how the other Guardian knew exactly where to go.  
“Oh, you don’t need to memorize the halls,” Luna said, as if reading her mind. “As a resident, you’ll always be able to find where you want to go.”  
Tara breathed a sigh of relief and wondered why Thalia had failed to mention that rather important detail.  
“It’s meant to be a security measure,” Luna continued lightly as she resumed her trek. “If someone were to break in, they’d never be able to plan a route because the halls are always changing. Also, it keeps things nice and interesting. Here we are.”  
Luna stopped outside a lilac door with the name ‘Tara’ written on it in gold.  
“Once it gets to know you, Alenya will decorate your room how you like it, but for now, this is it.”  
“Thanks,” Tara replied, but Luna was gone. Only a faint breeze where she stood suggested she was ever there.

The room was reasonably sized, but mostly plain, with a bed and some generic storage space. Tara wasn’t sure what ‘Alenya decorating it’ entailed, but it was enough to get by with for now. Not bothering to unpack, Tara dumped her bag on the bed and grabbed some exercise wear. She’d only grabbed a few things from home, having not wanted to hang around long enough for her siblings to notice her presence.

Tara’s ‘home’ life was complicated. Technically, she and Natasha didn’t live together, as Tara stayed with an adoptive human family. Although, with eight older siblings, a rich politician dad and his trophy-wife to ignore her very existence, Tara wasn’t exactly too hung up about sneaking out to live at a boarding house. They’d never noticed her leave before, why would they start now?

Luna was right. All it took was the intention and a bit of walking, and Tara was able to find the training room with surprising ease. She kind of wished it had been harder, as now she had to spend more time in a room alone with Thalia, who now had a sword and appeared to hate her guts.  
“I don’t hate you,” Thalia sighed, again as if she knew her thoughts. Was she really that easy to read?  
Thalia raised an eyebrow. “You were staring at me like a deer in headlights. Just know that no, I do not hate you. I’m just against the idea of you being here.”  
“Ooookay,” Tara replied awkwardly, feeling herself rock back and forth nervously on the balls of her feet. Thalia put down her sword and beckoned Tara over to an area with a mat.  
“We’ll start with hand to hand. I want to see where you’re at.”  
And with that, she swung at her.

It was only Tara’s quick reaction which saved her from getting punched in the face, but however fast Tara was, Thalia was faster. Tara’s small size made her well-suited to dodging and weaving, but as soon as she was faced with the chance to attack, she was at a loss for what to do. Within minutes she was on her back with Thalia’s boot planted on her shoulder.  
“I’ll give you this,” Thalia noted, eyebrows raised. “You’re surprisingly fast, and good at evading. Most kids your age would be down in seconds.”  
“Did… did you just compliment me?” Tara puffed.  
“I’m here to train you and make sure you can keep yourself alive. Part of that means being honest about where your abilities stand.”  
Tara blinked, not quite sure how to respond.  
“Where’d you learn to dodge like that anyway?” Thalia asked, resetting the space.  
“I, uh, I have adoptive siblings.” Tara absently rubbed her bare arm and picked at the edge of a brightly coloured Band-Aid, hoping that answer was enough to satisfy the older teen. She didn’t particularly feel like discussing her home life with someone she’d just met.  
“And?” Thalia prompted. Tara sighed, and tried to think of how to phrase things in order to avoid any other questions.  
“Their version of tag was a little rougher than usual,” she explained simply, forcing a shrug. Thalia looked at her questioningly, but seemed to sense she didn’t want to elaborate.  
“Alright,” she said, matching Tara’s shrug. “Let’s work on some defensive moves then, shall we?”

The rest of the afternoon was spent running through various defensive motions that would allow Tara to deflect punches, block strikes and break grips. Thalia was tough, and brutally honest when it came to feedback, but all in all she was a good teacher, and was much fairer than Tara was expecting.  
Still, Tara returned to her room exhausted and aching, but a little less scared of the black-clad faerie. She wondered how Natasha was doing with her training.

Tara opened the door to her room and froze, then double checked the name on the door just to make sure. The entire layout of her room had changed, and Tara suddenly remembered Luna telling her that Alenya might soon redecorate. This was far sooner than expected though, she had to admit.  
The one modest bedroom had now been transformed into a small, high-roofed circular atrium, with the north-west section of the wall replaced by windows looking out onto the house’s gardens. There were bookshelves lining the curved walls and various reading nooks and couches scattered around the space.  
Tara crossed the shiny wooden floor in amazement to a second door on the far side of the room, opening it to find the bedroom, its walls still a soft lavender, but now decorated with shelves and hanging plants. There was also a window in here now, a little alcove that looked out over the shady foliage of the gardens. It was peaceful, and somehow, exactly what Tara liked.  
She also slept a little easier knowing her door now had a lock on it.

*

The kid was an incredibly fast learner, Thalia had to admit. The next day little Noodle Arms put every one of the moves Thalia had taught her into practice in their warmup. She lasted almost a full five minutes that morning until Thalia had her on the floor.

Until they received another mission, Thalia intended to use every day available to train up the newbie, as if it might make some life or death difference. She had to keep reminding herself not to take her frustrations out on the kid: It wasn’t her fault she was chosen. It wasn’t her fault Rose wasn’t here to train her instead of Thalia.  
“Today I want to see how you do with a weapon,” Thalia announced. Tara’s bright blue eyes widened slightly, whether from excitement or fear Thalia couldn’t tell. It seemed as though the tiny red-head was always nervous around her, or maybe she was just always nervous. Either way, it wouldn’t do her any good in the field.

The decision to give her Thalia’s sword was one Thalia instantly regretted. She silently wondered what she had done for the universe to punish her like this.  
“Tara, you are holding the sword backwards,” Thalia deadpanned.  
“But it’s comfortable like this.”  
“Tara, that is a rapier, and you are holding it backwards. You are going to stab yourself with it.”  
Tara shot her a pout and Thalia felt like pinching the bridge of her nose.  
This was going to be a long day.

Dinner that night was a little livelier than it had been the past few days, though Thalia could sense her still brooding aura was somewhat dulling the atmosphere. The energetic form of her fellow Royal Guardian Fay was bobbing up and down excitedly in her chair.  
“So you really live in the Forest of Life?” she asked through mouthfuls of dinner.

The Guardians usually ate together in the large dining hall at Alenya. The table would adjust its size depending on how many Guardians were staying at the house at the time. There were usually a few Honouraries – the Guardians’ auxiliary members – sitting with them, but tonight it was just the six of them by themselves. It was Thalia’s turn to cook tonight; chicken stir-fry, vegetarian for Fay.  
“Uh, yeah?” Natasha answered confusedly. She seemed a little taken aback by Fay’s excitable energy. “I mean, Tara lives on the edge of it with her human family, but I have a tree-house in there.”  
“What’s it like, living with a human family?” Fay turned to Tara with wide eyes. Tara jumped, her fork clattering to the floor loudly. “How did you end up with them in the first place? Why doesn’t your sister live with them as well?”  
Tara seemed to shrink in on herself. Thalia had noticed from their training that she seemed to shut down when asked personal questions.  
“We were split a birth,” Natasha answered for her, eyeing her sister with slight concern. “It’s a long story.”  
“We’ve got plenty of time,” Fay shrugged through a full mouth.  
Natasha sighed and appeared to regret saying anything to start with.  
“It was to do with our protectorate,” she began slowly, glancing at Tara to make sure she wasn’t overstepping.  
“The Forest of Life,” Fay added, apparently enamoured with the fact.  
“There was this demon,” Natasha continued, choosing her words carefully, “and he wanted to someday destroy the forest. So, to make sure its Guardians were weakened, he split us apart. He took Tara and placed her with a human family, and he cursed us both to weaken our powers.”  
Thalia leant forwards, cautiously intrigued. This conversation had started out as Fay being Fay, but had turned into something personal.  
“What kind of curse are we talking?” she asked quietly. It was Tara who answered this time.  
“He suppressed my magic,” she said flatly. “My powers didn’t develop until I was ten, when my family moved out to the Forest and I met Natasha for the first time.”  
“As for me, he cursed me so that my life-force is tied to the forest. If it is destroyed, I die,” Natasha finished.  
There was a pause as the room absorbed this information. Then:  
“Great,” Thalia grouched, her previous gruffness settling once again. “The Mark has sent us one kid with an unpredictable power-set and one that could randomly drop dead on us. Just perfect, Mark.”

The rest of the dinner passed in silence, the only sounds the scraping of plates and clattering of cutlery. Someone cleared their throat in the doorway.  
“Well, this seems awkward.”  
The older woman smiled cheekily, her friendly eyes creased at the corners from her years of warm welcomes. She had rich coffee-coloured skin and a cascading mane of chocolate curls, and wore an elegant turquoise dress and large crystal earrings. Despite her regal appearance, she greeted them all with an air of familiarity.  
“Ammy!” Luna squealed and literally flew at her for a hug. Her oversized butterfly wings knocked over her chair as they unfurled. Amaryllis expertly caught her mid-air and pulled her into a motherly embrace.  
Once Luna had returned to her seat, (now up righted) Amaryllis turned to the rest of the table.  
“I’m sorry to hear about Amy-Rose and Isabella,” she said solemnly, moving to ruffle Thalia’s choppy black hair. Thalia outwardly bristled at the touch, but secretly leant into it, savouring Amaryllis’ gentle affection. The older woman was Queen Titania’s younger sister, and head of Alenya boarding house. She visited from time to time from her nearby mountain village to check up on its inhabitants and provide some adult supervision and guidance.   
“ I hear we have some new recruits,” she continued, moving on to stroke Astrid’s colourful dyed spikes. “Tara, Natasha, it is a pleasure to meet you. My name is Amaryllis and I’ll be popping into Alenya from time to time. If you have any questions, I’m happy to help. Now, down to business.” She gestured to the doorway. “Thalia, Estelle will be training with you for the next week or so. I’ve brought her in and she’ll be staying in her usual room.”  
Thalia groaned loudly. “As if I don’t have enough to deal with at the moment, you want me to train Estelle?!”  
Amaryllis chuckled. “Yes, you know she enjoys learning from you.”  
“Hey Thalia!” came a small voice from the doorway. The impish form of Amaryllis’ fourteen year-old foster daughter waved cheerfully. Thalia groaned again.  
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

One kid was hard enough to train. Add Estelle to the mix, and Thalia would not be getting a lot of time to herself.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not gonna lie, I adore Estelle, but I can't help but feel I introduced her really badly in that last chapter and this one. Still though, I love her chaos.

The corridors really seemed unending to Tara, but then maybe that was because she had no destination in mind. She was simply wandering, trying to clear her head. That day’s training had been rough: Thalia had been harried by the extra trainee – a skinny teen about a year older than Tara, with a short boyish pixie-cut and a penchant for mischief. Tara wasn’t sure how, but after one training with Estelle Fir, both her and Thalia had ended up coated in glitter.  
So, Tara was now wandering the halls, looking for nothing in particular. It occurred to her after a few minutes that maybe this time could be spent productively, and she began to mentally catalogue the rooms she came across. Her stroll eventually led her to a large room stacked with ornate bookshelves and study tables, which she assumed was the house’s library. The many curving walls were lined with ancient-looking volumes, while others were stuffed with pigeon holes holding various scrolls and maps.

Tara knew she had much to learn about the world of magic. She was, after all, raised by humans with no knowledge of magic, and Natasha really only knew the basics to teach her. What better place to start than a giant magical library in a sentient house?

After a while of searching the shelves in book-lover awe, she came across a thick volume called ‘Welcome to Aurellius: A Beginner’s Guide to the World of Magic.’  
Well, if that wasn’t a good place to start, what was?

A history of Protectorates, laws of magic, dimension theory, monsters and magical creatures: The heavy tome had everything Tara could possibly need to understand the new world around her. There was even a chapter on the Royal Guardians, and the mysterious Mark which controlled their missions.  
Tara stared at the new image drawn inside her left wrist. The Mark of the Guardian would change colour when active, letting her know she had been assigned a mission. Otherwise, it appeared as a slightly shimmery dark blue tattoo of a circlet wrapped around a circle. Apparently, it would glow around other Wielders when active, but around humans it would simply change its hue.  
At least that’ll help it stay discreet, Tara thought. It would be hard to explain a glowing tattoo to my parents.  
The Honouraries were marked by a simplified version of the circlet on their right wrist, with some added tribal-like markings surrounding it. There were illustrations in the book and they reminded Tara about her own sketchpad, sitting unpacked in her room. She’d have to try drawing the gardens out her window some time.  
Tara had heard that some Honouraries sometimes stayed at Alenya as well, although she was yet to meet one. Compared to the six Royal Guardians, there were supposedly around two hundred Honouraries across the world; various sorcerers, shape shifters, witches, wizards, warlocks, but also faeries like herself, tasked with protecting the world’s Wielders from supernatural threats. 

Tara turned the page to another illustration and a phantom shiver seemed to run down her spine, which was strange, she thought, because it wasn’t cold in the library. It was a woman with light brown skin and thick dark hair which had a striking white streak running through it. She also had golden eyes, similar to both Queen Titania from the induction and Amaryllis who had shown up at dinner before. They would have been quite beautiful, had they not held such malice in them. Morgana, the illustration claimed her name was. Another shiver ran down Tara’s back.  
“Watcha doin’?”  
Tara jumped and the book went flying, the page lost as it tumbled to the ground.  
“How long have you been standing there?” Tara asked the bouncing figure of Fay, who had appeared behind her. Her messy blonde plait was falling out thanks to the constant movement.  
“About 2 seconds. Out for a late night read?”  
“A late night…?” Tara hadn’t noticed, but the sky outside the library window was dark. She had been here for hours and hadn’t realised. A wave of exhaustion washed over her. She should have been in bed ages ago, especially after training and hadn’t quite realised just how tired she really was. “What are you doing here then?” she asked. She picked up the fallen book and rose from the couch to return to her room.  
“Couldn’t sleep,” Fay bobbed. Tara raised her eyebrows sleepily.  
“Too much red cordial?” Exhaustion had dissolved her verbal filter, but she was too tired to care.  
“Nah. Nightmares.”  
“Oh,” Tara answered.  
“See you in the morning, then,” Fay waved, and left Tara to her trek to her room. 

Tara collapsed into bed fully clothed, not even bothering to lock her door. That night she dreamt of the malice-eyed woman, and woke up as tired as when she’d gone to sleep.

*

“Keep your arm up, Tara. You’re dropping your weapon,” Thalia sighed, adjusting her student’s stance. The kid had been training with Thalia’s sword for the past few days, but Thalia could see it was too heavy for her. She had been holding off on taking her to the weapons room for as long as she could, but they’d been lucky not to get a mission in the past week and Thalia could no longer count on Tara not being in the field anytime soon. She needed a weapon of her own.

Thalia exhaled loudly and rubbed at her neck. Tara was slicing somewhat clumsily at the sand sacks, while Estelle struck at a dummy with a wooden rod.   
Could she really trust the kid enough to give Tara her own sword? Well, she’d soon find out.  
“Alright Tara. I’m taking you to the weapons room,” Thalia groaned. Noodle Arms glanced at her in confusion. “It’s time you got a sword your own size.”  
Estelle gasped and dropped her rod.  
“Can I come too?” she exclaimed.  
“No!” Thalia bristled quickly. “I am not having you running around with sharp objects, Estelle.”  
“Come on, Thalia,” she groaned. “I’ve been training with you for far longer than she has, and you still won’t let me near a weapon?”  
“No,” Thalia repeated. Estelle poked her tongue out at her and Thalia heard Tara stifle a giggle. She glared and felt her eyes flash electric blue. They had a tendency to do that when she was emotional, or just doing magic. They quickly returned to normal, however, when Tara flinched so hard she dropped the sword.  
“She’s really not gonna survive her first mission, is she?” Thalia mumbled to herself sadly, and reluctantly gestured for both girls to follow her to the armoury. She could practically sense Estelle’s excitement radiating off her.

“PUT THAT DOWN!” Thalia screeched as Estelle excitedly swung a mace. Gosh, she felt like an exasperated mother dealing with a sugar-hyped kid, except this sugar-hyped kid was let loose in a room full of deadly objects. She wondered why Amaryllis even adopted the little psycho in the first place.  
I wish Rose was here, Thalia thought glumly. She’d know exactly how to deal with this mess.  
Tara, on the other hand, was actually trying, but had no idea what she was doing. She had wandered into the knife section, and was trying out various tiny knives as if they were full-sized blades.  
“Tara, that is a butter knife,” Thalia deadpanned, feeling a headache coming on. “And that’s a throwing knife. Do you know how to throw knives? No? Then put it back.”  
“I like the small size,” Tara said simply, trying another blade. “They’re light.”  
“They’re also too small to block anything. If you want a knife, you need one you can at least fight with.”  
“What about this?” Estelle suggested, hefting a giant broadsword in both hands.  
“Put that back, or so help me.” Thalia massaged her temple. Yep. She was definitely getting a headache.  
“Um… I’m looking for something a liiiiiittle smaller,” Tara winced. Estelle shrugged, tossed the sword and skipped to another section.

“Oooooh!” Estelle squealed from somewhere behind a rack.  
“What have you got now?” Thalia snapped.   
“A silver lasso!”  
“Estelle, no!”  
“Estelle yes!”   
The shimmering rope was made from Starling silver – magically imbued metal – and could be used as a whip, lasso and various other tools. Cracked at the right speed, it could sever a hydra’s head. Thalia wasn’t exactly comfortable with it in Estelle’s possession, and quickly moved to confiscate it.

“Thalia?” Tara interrupted tentatively. Thalia turned sharply, her patience wearing thin.  
“What?”  
“My wrist is glowing.”  
Thalia’s eyes widened, her chest tightening painfully. Oh no. No, no, no. This is not a good time Mark!  
But no amount of panic could change anything. Tara vanished in a burst of light, off to complete her first ever Mark mission with only a week’s worth of training.  
Thalia raked her fingers through her hair frantically. She had barely covered offensive moves. The kid only had a throwing knife in her hand: she was practically unarmed! Thalia hadn’t even looked at testing her powers yet. She was going in totally unprepared!

Thalia was too busy freaking out to notice that her own wrist had taken on the same iridescent glow until she too vanished under Mark’s light.

Some days the Mark gives warning before a jump, other times it just dumps its chosen Guardian wherever it thinks they need to be. That dump tends to be several feet off the ground.  
Thalia’s shoulder screamed as she slammed into a bitumen road, her thick leather jacket the only thing saving her from gravel rash. She rolled to her feet, absorbing the impact, and came face to face with the rest of the Royal Guardians, all looking equally dishevelled. Thalia swore violently. If the Mark was big enough that it needed every Guardian, there was no way the newbies could come out unscathed.  
Quickly, she took stock. She had two swords; her own Starling silver rapier strapped to her side, and Rose’s katana slung across her back. Luna had her staff, but was ill-dressed for combat in a pair of Ugg boots and a pink cat-face jumper. Fay, on the other hand was still in her exercise gear from her morning run, and had her batons strapped to her leg holster. Astrid had her twin hunting knives, as always -Thalia was pretty sure she slept with them – and had even had time to replace her glasses with contacts. She had also had time, apparently, to take her own trainee to the weapons room, as Natasha was armed with a brand-new bow and quiver. Tara had a single throwing knife. She was extremely screwed.  
Thalia only hoped that the kid’s ‘unpredictable’ magic would be co-operative today. 

“Stick close to me, kid,” Thalia hissed, grabbing Tara’s arm. Noodle Arms flinched at the sudden touch, but Thalia had no time to question it as a shadow engulfed the empty street they stood on.  
“SCATTER!” Astrid yelled, and Thalia ran, dragging the younger girl behind her as a colossal stone foot splintered the street where they once stood.

“What the heck was that?” Tara screamed, trailing being Thalia.  
“Just keep running!” was Thalia’s reply.  
They sprinted through the streets of what was apparently a small country town, although the sigils scrawled on the back-alley walls suggested it was a Wielder settlement. Every so often, the ground would shake, and Thalia would catch a glimpse of a towering dark figure pursuing them across the town.  
“Aren’t we supposed to be stopping that thing?” Tara puffed.  
“We need to assess the situation first,” Thalia growled. She did not have the patience to be babysitting a newbie today. “We’ll regroup once we know what we’re facing.”  
“And what are we facing?”  
“By the looks of it, a stone giant,” Thalia replied.

A small gnarled creature appeared in front of them, causing Thalia to skid suddenly. It bared its stone-like teeth, and drool splattered the concrete. The creature’s armoured granite shell would easily deflect a sword.  
“Other way,” Thalia said, making a quick U-turn.  
“Yep,” Tara agreed.

They sprinted through the narrowing streets, pursued by an ever-growing crowd of rock creatures, until they ended up in the entrance of a shopping centre. Thalia let the electric tingling run to her fingers and discharged a bolt of lightning which fried the automatic doors. The creatures piled against the glass and began pounding on the surface with marble fists.  
“That’s not going to hold them for long,” Thalia murmured, backing away from the shaking window, Tara in tow.  
“So… Lightning, huh?” Tara asked casually to fill the silence of their retreat.  
“Storms, actually.”  
A crack split the thick glass pane.  
“We should run, shouldn’t we?” Tara deadpanned.  
“Yeah. Ya think?”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I also love Reagan, but I sorta feel like I introduce her here and then proceed to do absolutely nothing with her for the entirety of the story, so I kinda need to fix that somehow.

“So, does this happen often?” Tara shouted as she and Thalia sprinted through the halls of a shopping centre. The shops were still open, though there was no one around, as if everyone left in a hurry. Of course, you would leave in a hurry too, if a giant stone monster decided to attack your town.  
“What?” Thalia shouted back. There wasn’t much room to fight in these hallways, and she could hear the creatures flooding the corridors in search of them. “Getting dropped into the middle of a battle with no warning? Being completely unprepared for a Mark and having to deal with it on the fly? Yeah, actually. It does.”  
The pair stopped running for a moment and pressed their backs against the corridor wall, panting as they tried to catch their breath. Thalia’s chest ached. Her hands were tingling, the magic she’d summoned before waiting, aching to be free again, but unless she had enough energy to create several massive blasts, her electricity wouldn’t do much good against stone, nor would her sword.  
“What if I tried making some vines? We could try slowing them down,” Tara panted. Her fingers were sparking feebly like they had at the induction – tiny blue red and yellow glimmers of magic. Thalia shrugged and gestured for her to give it a go, as if it would do any good.

Tara raised her hands and took a deep breath, closing her eyes momentarily as she concentrated. As she moved her palms slowly through the air, small vines began to sprout across the passageway, climbing up the walls and across the ceiling to block the space. Strange red flowers bloomed up the creepers, filling the hallway with eerie flickering light from the flames that licked at the petals.  
Tara dropped her arms, and Thalia could see the wave of post-magic exhaustion wash over her.  
“Save your energy,” she warned. “We need to keep moving.”

The sound of screaming met Thalia’s ears, and by the look of Tara’s startled expression, she heard it too. Indeed, the sound was getting louder, closer, and it wasn’t screaming, rather shouting. Swearing, to be exact.  
“Do we… do we run towards the cursing, or away from it?” Tara asked hesitantly. Thalia took a long, exasperated exhale.  
“Stick close,” she said, and followed the sound. As the shouting grew closer, Thalia quickly realised that the voice was familiar: There was only one person she knew who could outdo her in a swearing match.

Enter; Reagan Nightshade. Sarcastic witch, Guardian of the Arcane Library and head of the Melbourne Magical District witch coven, now surrounded by marble monsters, holding a large coffee cup aloft in one hand and cussing so violently it would make a sailor blush. It was a majestic sight.  
She was an intimidating figure – tall and heavy with muscle, she wore her weight well. Her cascading mane of dark brown curls were hanging in her face, but that didn’t stop her from taking wild kicks at the stone creatures with her heavy black Doc Martin boots. Small white scars flecked her bare brown arms, there was a fresh cut on one elbow and her black lace dress was torn, but still she held her coffee in the air like it was the most precious thing in the world. Every so often her dark eyes would flash glowing silver and a monster would go flying with a wave of her one free hand.  
“Get your dirty claws away from me, you filthy little –“ she screeched, sending another creature hurtling with her telekinesis.  
She was a picture of absolute feral beauty.

Thalia dug deep into her energy stores and let loose a massive blast of lightning which swept the stone monsters away from the witch, shattering them against the shopping centre wall where they dissolved into pebbles, banished from this world. Exhaustion quickly washed over her, but Thalia did her best to appear calm and collected. Sure, her leaning on a disgruntled Tara’s head was her being cool, not her trying not to fall over.

“Well if it isn’t Thalia Griffon, Royal Guardian,” Reagan smiled, then proceeded to casually down her entire un-spilt coffee in one go.  
“Reagan,” Thalia nodded coolly.  
“Get off,” Tara grumbled from her position as an arm rest.   
“Thanks for the save. Good coffee’s hard to find.”

Reagan, as it turned out, had been visiting the town in order to try out a new faerie coffee shop and gather some supplies for her next coven spell when an evacuation order had been given out. Of course, Reagan was stubborn enough not to leave until she got her supplies, but the rest of the inhabitants had followed their town’s safety procedures and fled to a nearby settlement until help arrived and the alert was called off. Sensible, in Thalia’s opinion.

“Those little things are everywhere,” Reagan grouched, discarding her empty cup in the nearest bin.  
“Yeah, we know,” Thalia replied, steadying herself as the sudden exhaustion eased. “They chased us in here.”  
“It’s not just stone ones, either,” Reagan added. “I haven’t seen their masters, but there’s been a couple of fire demons running around, and some weird mutated bird things. All minions of some bigger monster, by the looks of it.”  
“The giant?” Tara asked. She was gripping her tiny throwing knife hard in whitened knuckles. Thalia gently reached to loosen her fist before she lost circulation.  
“More like giants, plural.” Thalia corrected with a sigh. “Different sets of minions, different bosses. It appears we’re dealing with elemental giants.”

*

Elementals shouldn’t have been too difficult for the Royal Guardians to deal with, given several of their members possessed elemental specialties themselves. However, it was slightly harder to coordinate a coherent defence when the groups members were scattered throughout the small country town. For example, while Astrid could easily handle a hoard of stone monsters, the whirlwind attacks of Stymphalian birds made focusing on one element twice as difficult. And of course, their resident daydreamer Luna was nowhere to be seen, meaning Astrid couldn’t count on her air magic to counter the creatures’ wing gusts and flying razor feathers.  
“Shoot the birds,” Astrid called bluntly to her red-haired trainee, slashing a razor sharp feather projectile out of the air with one of her twin hunting knives. Natasha obliged with vigour, drawing her bow and aiming at the swarm of monsters above them.   
Stymphalian birds. Astrid hated Stymphalian birds. The annoying mutant monsters had originated in ancient Greece, but like most mythological creatures, had migrated out of the European continent in order to annoy as many Wielders as physically possible. Both their beaks and feathers were razor sharp, and they could create strong gusts of wind by beating their wings. Basically, they sucked. 

Astrid slammed her boot into the ground, sending her magic coursing into the stone. The cracking of earth was music to her ears, as was the crunching of Stymphalian bone when she sent a chunk of rock flying at the swarm. She adjusted her grip on her blades and swiped at a nearby stone minion, cleaving it clean in half, then moved on to the rest of the birds.

The Guardians had been scattered after the initial attack and with various minions pursuing them through the abandoned town streets, they’d had no chance to regroup. Somewhere a few streets away a plume of acrid smoke hailed the presence of a fire giant, while the regular earthquakes signalled the stone monster was on the move. Meanwhile, the continuous onslaught of wind gusts and bladed feathers prevented Astrid from unfolding her wings to get a bird’s eye view of the situation. Thalia was nowhere to be seen, there were giants running loose and Astrid had to babysit an inexperienced thirteen-year-old newbie who was trying to fight everything in sight. Things were looking annoyingly bad and Astrid wanted to punch something. She settled for a marble creature’s face.

*

Natasha was running out of arrows. They were fighting a horde in the town square, the centre fountain providing further ammunition for Natasha’s powers, but with the constant attacks from above it was hard to concentrate on magic. Her teacher had told her to shoot the birds, and that was what she had done. When that had failed, she’d resorted to swinging her bow as hard as she could at the nearest monsters. Years of climbing trees in the forest had strengthened her, and with the aid of an unbreakable Starling silver bow, her blows left cracks in their marble carapaces. The cracks spilled sand like a wound would blood and soon the ground was slippery with its shifting underfoot. With a particularly vigorous swing, Natasha overbalanced, and her feet slid from beneath her.

Gravel from the road stung her bare arms. Another stone monster came at her while she was down and she flicked a spray of water at it from her bleeding palm, to, of course, no avail. Then a bandaged fist came flying at the creature, shattering its face in a burst of red light. Astrid roughly hauled Natasha to her feet with one hand, still cleaving monsters in half with her other.  
“Get up, quick,” she growled. “There’s something else coming.”

Training with Astrid, Natasha had quickly learnt to listen to the gruff teen’s commands. She would only give them once, and Nat soon found it was best to follow them. For example, if Astrid told her to duck, she had approximately three seconds to do so before a swinging sand bag smacked her in the face, or if Astrid told her to stretch before her workout, she would discover that if she failed to do so thoroughly, she would be horribly stiff in the morning. While Natasha found the other girl’s curtness manageable, she hated to think how her meeker sister would have fared under her guidance.

A sudden gust of wind threatened to send Natasha back onto her butt again, but Astrid’s rigid grip kept her from tumbling. The older girl muttered a string of curses under her breath as both their gazes settled on a giant which had materialised before them, its body formed from swirling bursts of air.  
“How do we fight that?” Natasha prompted, gathering her magic into her palms ready to swing.  
“We don’t.”  
“What?” Natasha burst, the blue glow sputtering out with her surprise.  
"We run until we find Luna, and we send her to kick its butt."  
And with that, Astrid took off sprinting, leaving Natasha scrambling to catch up as the wind howled up a dust-storm behind them.

*

Every corner Thalia rounded, another minion sprang into existence. The lights were flickering sporadically in some hallways, while others were scarred by black ash. Some stores had closed their shutters before their attendants had run, but others were left open, overturned racks spilling their merchandise into the corridors and Thalia had almost slipped a few times on discarded shopping bags. Occasionally Tara would stomp on a small flame to stop it from spreading, apparently unfazed by the heat. Thalia had to guess it was something to do with her powers, and was still kicking herself for not training with them sooner. Frankly, testing the newbie’s magic should have been the first thing she did.   
First thing she’d do when they got home, however, was make the kid do some cardio.   
Tara’s chest was heaving a little too much for Thalia’s liking. While little Noodle Arms may have been fast in bursts, she obviously struggled with endurance. The younger girl was gasping in air, her grip dangerously tight on the hilt of her tiny blade. Tiny beads of blood had started to roll off her palm where her nails had dug into her skin… wait… was she having a panic attack?   
Ah. So it wasn’t the cardio fitness after all. 

Thalia dove around into an open shop, hiding herself in a rack of clothing before reaching around to drag Tara after her and suppressing a wince at the girl’s sharp intake of breath upon contact. She should have expected something like this. The young girl was clearly a nervous one to start with, and being thrown straight into a mission without much preparation was unsurprisingly too much for her. Thalia could relate; she’d been at this job for over a year now, and it still hadn’t got much easier. The urge to go curl up in a ball the second the fighting started was a strong one, but one she had to resist when lives were at stake.   
This is exactly why I didn’t want her here in the first place, some part of her thought. I can’t do my job with some panicky pipsqueak in my way.  
Thalia pushed those thoughts aside. It wasn’t the kid’s fault she was here. Thalia would just have to deal. Besides, it wasn’t as if she’d never had a panic attack on the job either.   
Quickly, she motioned for Reagan the witch to keep a look-out and let her shaking companion to slide against the store mirror. Thankfully, her legs held up on her, so she remained standing, though Thalia had to stoop to get to her level.  
“I’m sorry,” Tara whispered, shivering despite a slight sheen of sweat that beaded her forehead. She repeated it a few times, her bright blue eyes flicking up to meet Thalia’s.   
“Hey, hey… it’s OK,” Thalia soothed. She went to hold her arm for support, then stopped as she remembered how jumpy she was at physical contact. "I'm here. I'm gonna get you through this, OK?"   
"I know," Tara mumbled. She seemed to have controlled her breathing now, and was taking slow deliberate deep breaths in what looked like an attempt to calm herself. Thalia wondered how many panic attacks she'd had in order to be able to do that so quickly. "I know. Sorry, I just… I just need a minute."   
"Well it's going to have to be a quick minute," Reagan called from her post at the corner. "Cos we've got company." 

Tara hiccupped slightly, but didn't panic any further, which Thalia took as a good sign.   
"You mobile?" she asked, rummaging through her various jacket pockets. She got a small, determined nod in reply. "Good, because we're going to have to move in a second." Finding what she was looking for, Thalia yanked a crushed, half-melted Caramello Koala out of her pocket and handed it to her student. "Here. Eat this. It'll help. We'll see if we can get you some water from one of these shops as well."  
Tara stuttered out her thanks just as the growling of some stone monsters grew closer, and soon they were running again. 

Thalia wasn't sure how long they'd been under siege in this shopping centre. 45 minutes maybe? An hour? The abandoned fried chicken on the food-court table was still warm, so it couldn’t have been that long. She wanted to get out. She wanted to find her sister, find her friends, and escape this death-trap of a town before they lost another few members. The only problem was, as hard as they'd tried to keep the monsters out of the shopping centre, the monsters were trying to keep them in. Occasionally the ground would tremble as a giant outside passed by, and Thalia was convinced that any minute the building would collapse on them.   
And then it did.   
Cracks rang out like a dinosaur stepping on twigs. Thalia only had time to grab Tara by the waist and dive out of the way as a section of the roof peeled off, crashing down in a cloud of choking dust. Through the haze, their tag-along witch was nowhere to be seen.   
"Reagan!" Thalia screamed. The dust stung her eyes and clung to her clothes, painting her a ghostly grey. Beside her, Tara coughed, her body shivering from again rising panic.   
'I'm fine, just stuck on the other side of this rubble,' echoed Reagan, her voice resonating strangely, as though it was coming from… 'Yeah, I'm talking in your head. Telekinesis isn't my only specialty. I can also communicate psychically with other living beings.'   
"Wait, does that mean you can hear my…"  
'Only the ones you project loudly. Which, by the way… I'm flattered, really. Sorry 'bout Rose, and yeah, I would love to grab a coffee some time. I'll text you after we don't die.'   
Thalia felt herself go pink in the cheeks while Reagan said something about finding a way out from her side. They vowed to keep in mental contact with each other, with Reagan giving both Thalia and Tara instructions on how to effectively project their messages. 

The lights had flickered out entirely in their corridor, and now the air was full of dust, making breathing an arduous task. Suddenly water began to pool across the floor, pouring in from the ceiling hole like a pipe had burst, squelching uncomfortably into Thalia's boots. It quickly flooded across the tiles, sloshing against the walls of the corridor, dampening the corners of the advertisement posters plastered across the wall. Tara squeaked quietly as the water began to rise, swirling with its own currents. Shapes coalesced out of the dark liquid, reaching up in pillars like fingers until a giant hand formed before them. A water giant, reaching in from the crack in the ceiling, cutting them off from escape. Barely a second after came its minions. 

Soon it was Thalia's turn to freeze in panic. 

Running through the hastily abandoned shopping centre, they had been fortunate enough to only come across the stone and air monsters. Stymphalian birds had been easy enough to deal with in an enclosed space, and they were used to seeing the marble creatures by now. Fire demons had thankfully not popped up, despite Reagan's insistence that they were out there. But the water minions? The water minions were crabs. Thalia hated crabs. These ones were giant. 

Fear turned her legs to lead, ice creeping through her veins. Everyone has a phobia of some sort; some people are afraid of spiders, or small spaces, some don't like snakes or think sharks lived in deep pools. Thalia had an irrational fear of crabs.   
It was stupid, she knew (or at least that's what she told herself). The most she'd got from a crab was a nasty nip on the toe as a kid, and yet every time she went to the beach she refused to step on the sand in bare feet. They were creepy, and crawly, and now there were half a dozen of them sitting super-sized in front of her, with nippers like razor blades and legs lined with barbs like a praying mantis. And Thalia was frozen in place like a deer in headlights. 

All she could think, amid screaming at her body to move, was that this couldn't have come at a worse time. The giant’s hand was thrashing behind them, reaching desperately for its prey through the hole in the ceiling, while its minions blocked the corridor ahead, their pincers clicking menacingly like a chorus of morse code. There was no way out. Even worse, Thalia was supposed to be protecting her red-haired student, who herself appeared two seconds away from resuming her panic attack at any given moment, and right now Thalia was useless to her. The thought only panicked her further.   
Thalia couldn’t protect her. Tara was going to die, and it would be all Thalia’s fault. She was right; the tiny red-head wouldn’t survive her first mission, and it was because Thalia was too darn useless to help her. What was the Mark thinking, leaving her with this responsibility? What was it thinking assigning a Guardian who couldn’t even protect herself, let alone others?  
What was it thinking letting Bella and Rose go on that mission alone, with no idea what awaited them? What was Thalia thinking letting them go?

Tara looked up at her frozen in place with fear in her eyes. She knew. She knew she was going to die here, and she knew Thalia had lied when she’d told her she would get her through this.   
But then that fear quickly turned to something akin to realisation, and from there instead of panic, determination. Her face hardened despite her shaking body, as though her mind was fighting against her body’s desire to shut down in panic. And her mind was winning. 

With both hands, Tara reached across to Thalia and grasped the hilt of her rapier, tearing it from its sheath, her tiny knife stashed in her belt for later. The water giant swiped at her with sloshing hands, but she simply glared at it, side-stepping the strike and turning her back to the over-reached monster. With a fiery glint burning in her eyes, Tara placed herself between Thalia and the giant’s minion crabs and began to swing.


	6. Chapter 6

Battling fire giants was not exactly covered in Luna’s range of specialities. She was more of a scout, an observer, not a melee fighter. The paved rooftops of the town main-street, with their old-fashioned awnings and mounted shop signs would have provided perfect cover for her to survey from, but instead she was stuck in an empty parking lot dodging fireballs. Her feet were stinging from various cuts and burns she’d sustained from the almost molten concrete, but it was easier to fight in bare feet than it was in Ugg boots. Speaking of which, she now needed a new pair.   
The air was thick with acrid smoke which coloured the sky blood red. It moved stubbornly around Luna’s beating butterfly wings, which held her high enough off the ground that her feet had some brief relief. The air bubble she’d created let her breathe clearly, but keeping it up left her with less energy to direct towards the giant.

Fire giants were fascinating creatures, once you got past all the destructive tendencies. Luna had read somewhere that the colour of their flames reflected their mood. She wondered what blood red meant. Probably angry. Or in love? No, that would probably be more pinkish.   
What else did she remember about them? With enough fuel, they could reach up to the height of a 7 storey building, although at the moment it looked more like a 4 storey, they liked eating goats on special occasions, they needed oxygen in order to burn - ooh! That could help her! Air was full of oxygen, and she could control air! 

Luna shrank her personal air bubble to only cover her head so that she could still breathe, then gathered the rest of her available energy into her hands. Picturing what she wanted to achieve, Luna began to work, her arms moving in slow, flowing patterns like some sort of contemporary dance. Quickly, a current of wind began to form around the giant, eventually encasing it in an air bubble of its own. It roared, and swung at her with a burning fist, but the blowing barrier stopped it short. Sweat rolled down Luna’s ash-stained forehead, but she kept going, her movements becoming faster and sharper. Air rushed out of the bubble, and the monster howled, its angry red flames shrinking smaller as its oxygen supply was cut off, until, with a harsh motion from Luna, it vanished, its flames puttering out in a shower of sparks as the giant was destroyed, its spirit sent back to whatever plain of existence it originated from. Only falling ash and clearing smoke remained. 

*

Flames blossomed from Tara’s hand, the heat searing to Thalia even from a distance, who watched in a mixture of frozen horror and fascination as the younger teen sprang into action. Sword in one hand, Tara held back the watery advances of the giant with the other, streams of fire sending steam rising where it touched the water. It appeared her magic was being more than cooperative today; the amount of power in those blasts, to be able to hold back a water giant with fire alone, was more than Thalia had ever witnessed in a Wielder that age.   
Between fending off the giant behind them, Tara was handling Thalia’s sword with vigour, blocking and returning strikes from crabs’ nippers and barbs. Amid her panic, Thalia was secretly impressed with her technique, that was, until she turned the darn sword backwards again. Well, at least she didn’t stab herself with it.   
Oh my gosh!   
Holding the sword in a blatantly incorrect reverse grip, Tara jabbed the blade into a chink in a crab’s carapace, piercing through its defences and deep into its flesh. The crab exploded into a spray of sand and sea-water, stinging Thalia’s eyes.   
She just beat one! She actually beat one!  
It was enough to snap Thalia out of her trance. Training kicked in and muscle memory took over, and suddenly Thalia was drawing Rose’s katana from across her back and joining in the melee.   
Soon she was back to back with her student, circling slowly to alternate between the minions and their master. 

“You OK?” Tara murmured.  
“You’re holding your sword backwards,” Thalia hissed in reply.   
“I know,” came the dry response. Tara again slammed the blade into the shell of a giant crab, splitting it into sand once more.   
“I’m sorry,” Thalia confessed. Tara glanced at her confusedly.   
“What for?”  
“For doubting you. For being angry that you were around. For freezing up on you when you needed me. You didn’t ask to be in this situation. You don’t deserve me letting you down.”  
Tara took a long, surprisingly hard look at Thalia between blocks and parries.  
“Neither did you,” she said, righting her grip on the rapier. “Ask to be in this situation, that is. The Mark dumped you here, same as me.”  
“Yeah, but this is my job.”  
“Well, now it’s my job too,” she finished meaningfully.   
And with that she sent another monster crab back to Oblivion. 

*

Stained from head to toe in dust, sand and blood, Tara and her teacher emerged from the shopping centre side by side, exhausted, but alive. In the near distance, smoke rose in a toxic plume, choking the town in eerie half-darkness, but it was clearing, letting occasional rays of late-afternoon sun into the deserted townscape. Large cracks ran along the street where car-sized footprints left craters in the road, but the ground no longer shook. The wind was calm now too.   
Tara was shaking, this time not from panic, but fatigue. A dull ache was spreading through her body, starting at her hands, which felt raw and cold against the warm afternoon air.   
She now had her first giant kill under her belt. Fire had fought water, and fire had won. 

The sword she was holding clattered loudly to the ground, the sound jarring to her senses. Suddenly she was no longer standing; strong, leather-clad arms were wrapped around her, and blackness was quickly creeping into her vision. She vaguely heard Thalia sigh before exhaustion got the better of her and she closed her eyes. 

Tara woke with a jolt, something heavy draped over her aching body. She sat up quickly, then regretted it as her head spun painfully. It took her a full minute to realise she was back at Alenya house, on the common-room couch with a patchy knitted blanket tucked hastily over her. The lights were dimmed, obviously in aid of her pounding headache, leaving light to filter in from the kitchen entryway. The house had picked a soft purple paint for that day, probably to save Tara’s eyes the torment of waking up to the fluro yellow paint-job of the previous week, and in the dim light Tara could make out specks of glitter clinging to the coffee table in front of her. The table itself looked to have been through the wars, sporting coffee stains and the occasional scorch mark, and in one corner a little painting of a cat which was cracked and flaking at the edges. Fay was spread on the couch beside her’s in the recovery position, a nasty cut painting her hairline an angry pink and her wings out and bent at strange angles. She was drooling.   
“Oh, you’re awake,” came a soft voice that sounded like Luna’s. The older girl floated into Tara’s view, her long hair looking freshly washed. She had a fluoro pink Band-Aid plastered across the bridge of her nose, and noticed Tara staring. “Oh, yes, we let Estelle pick the Band-Aids.”  
Tara glanced down at her own arms, which were peppered with cuts and scrapes. Every injury was covered in a brightly coloured plaster of some sort, from plain fluoro, to smiley-faces and stars. She gave a small smile, then grimaced as the pain hit.  
Luna handed her a mug of something warm with a sympathetic smile.  
“What is it?” Tara asked, heating her hands on the cup. Expending so much energy on her fire had dropped her body temperature. The others must have noticed for them to have given her a blanket.   
“Hot chocolate,” Luna said simply. “It helps.”   
Tara nodded and sipped the creamy drink, savouring the warmth it brought to her insides. 

“What happened?” she asked finally. Luna perched herself on the couch beside her, giving a quick, worried glance to her sister passed out on the other seat. Tara couldn’t help but notice the somewhat sombre mood the house seemed to be in.   
“You burnt out. Used too much energy, lost consciousness.”  
“Yeah, I know. What happened after? Or, before, or just… in general?”  
“Well, we all got scattered by the first giant, then chased through the streets by their minions, Fay broke her wings and got knocked out by trying to fly around the wind giant, I killed the fire giant, Astrid and Natasha found me and took me to the wind giant, which I killed, then Astrid killed the stone giant, and we heard you killed the water giant, good job by the way, and then you and Thalia showed up, and some lady called Reagan who left straight after to go brew a potion or something, and you passed out.”  
Tara blinked, trying to absorb all that information, but apparently Luna was still going.   
“Then Thalia was carrying you, and Astrid was carrying Fay, because I’m not very strong, and we were going around to quickly check the damage to the town and see if there were any monsters left before we gave the all clear for the towns people to come back, and I flew up to see things from above, and I saw something, and I said ‘guys, you might want to come up here,’ so they flew up, and Thalia and Astrid went really pale and Thalia nearly dropped you, sorry, and then they got me to portal us home and patched you up, and then Thalia went to the gym hasn’t left since.”   
Tara all but flung the blanket off her lap. Concern bubbled in her chest, sharp against the cold that still permeated her bones.   
“What did you see?” Tara said quietly.   
“It was an insignia of some sort, burnt into the landscape by the monsters. It looked like some sort of fox thing. Thalia called it something like the ‘Mark of Morgana’. She sounded like she’d seen it before.” 

Morgana. The name peeled warning bells in her mind, a memory of a face and a sleepless night. Tara quickly excused herself and darted for the hallway, pushing down the wave of nausea and dizziness that came with the sudden movement. Luna looked almost as though she would order her back, especially when she stumbled into a wall, but something in Tara’s expression must have made her sense she’d have a hard time stopping her.   
The thought that Thalia knew something about this woman both worried and excited her. On one hand, Tara was curious to know more about this ‘Morgana’ who had kept her awake one night, on the other - the one that most weighed at her insides, twisting her gut with anxiety - Thalia’s response to whatever she saw sounded like one of fear. Tara hated to think what her new friend had been through to react like Luna had described.  
The corridors were cooperative tonight, and Tara reached the gym quickly despite her spinning head. The door sat ajar, a light still on inside. Tara approached carefully, unsure what she would find inside. 

The training room was a mess. Scattered sandbags sat obliterated around the room, a wooden mannequin hacked to pieces in the corner. Equipment was overturned, electrical scorch marks scarring the walls and floor. Most terrifying of all was Thalia, who sat eerily quiet, cross legged in the centre of the destruction, her sword layed out in front of her. She was staring at the ground, unmoving, even as Tara cautiously entered the room.   
“Training’s off tonight,” came Thalia’s voice, stiff and hoarse. Still she didn’t lift her head. ‘Go back to bed.”  
“Thalia,” Tara said quietly, inching gently towards the older girl. “Are you OK?”  
“Why wouldn’t I be?”   
The reply was curt, short, unconvinced. Thalia absently reached for her sword and began to polish without vigour, as though she simply needed something to do with her hands. Her focus remained on the sword, even as Tara carefully set herself down a little way away from her.   
They sat like that for a moment, Thalia cleaning her blade, Tara contemplating how to proceed. Finally Tara asked what she’d been wondering since that night in the library, something she was now confident Thalia knew the answer to.  
“Thalia, who is Morgana?”

It was another moment before anything changed, before Thalia set down her blade and cloth with a weary sigh. Tara knew that sigh. It was the sigh of someone who had buried their memories, only to have them dug right up again. Tara glanced at her and saw that her eyes were closed. Her hand rested on a small scar under her eye. Tara’s own hand unconsciously gravitated towards her wrist where a jagged scar lay under her brace.   
“You don’t have to -” Tara began, but Thalia cut her off.   
“Morgana is a witch.” Thalia’s throat looked tight, but she seemed resolved to continue. “She’s the witch who killed my parents.”  
And suddenly Thalia’s arms were around her and her shoulder was damp with the older girl’s tears, and Tara was holding her while she sobbed and whispered, age-old memories tracing fresh tracks down her light brown cheeks.   
“I never wanted to see that symbol again,’ she murmured, just loud enough for Tara to hear. “That symbol she burnt into the hill in my hometown the day she… the day…”  
“Hey, hey… I’m here,” Tara whispered back, like Thalia had done for her, stroking the older teen’s choppy black hair like she’d seen Amaryllis do until the sobbing subsided. “You’re safe.” 

No one got much sleep that night. Exhaustion still weighed down Tara’s limbs, the dull ache of energy surges throbbing through her as her body tried to stabilise her powers after overuse. Despite this, sleep refused to take hold, and she found herself sitting up in the boarding house common room, sharing hot chocolates with the rest of the house’s residents. Fay was awake and concussed, and had commandeered an entire couch to herself and her broken wings. Thalia sat curled up next to Tara, her eyes still blotchy, while her sister set up a bean-bag in the corner. No one had seen Astrid that afternoon until she had turned up spattered with paint and smudged charcoal. Still she refused to talk to anyone, and now Tara knew why. Luna was reading a book in a pillow fort she’d built. Even Thalia’s extra trainee Estelle, who was absent from the battle, was awake, although admittedly somehow hanging from the ceiling. Only Natasha had managed to slumber, and was currently spread-eagle on her bed back in her room. Tara had checked on her.  
And thus, Tara’s first meeting in the ‘Council of Insomniacs’ convened. 

They watched Disney movies. Apparently the ‘council’ was a common occurrence, because there was a stack of films about as tall as Tara balanced next to the TV. Nestled in piles of pillows and blankets, the gathering felt like a friendly sleep-over, quiet chatter bubbling over the movie’s dialogue. Halfway through The Little Mermaid, Thalia’s phone buzzed, prompting a small smile from the fairly sullen teen as Reagan confirmed their coffee date. One by one, with the sounds of Disney princess songs lulling them to sleep, they drifted off, chatter gradually being replaced by snores.   
Among this motley crew, sharing in their grief or fear or general insomnia, despite having only known them for a week, Tara felt at home. She felt, surprisingly, safe.   
She didn’t lock her door the next night. 

It was a couple of days before training started up again. Thalia (understandably) needed some time after being faced with the symbol of her parents’ murderer, and Tara still had to recover from burning herself out. She still took to the gym each day though, working with what equipment she knew to practice Thalia’s moves. Tara was determined to master them quickly, at the bare minimum to ease Thalia’s worries that she wouldn’t be able to take care of herself in the field. She figured she could at least do that much to take a bit off the older Guardian’s plate. 

She also took the time to catch up on some reading.  
‘Welcome to Aurellius’ was still where she left it on the library shelf. Her last page was slightly creased from where she’d dropped the book, and soon she was once again staring at the haunting illustration of the witch Morgana. Her harsh golden eyes seemed to stare out at her from the page, as though the painting was alive and watching her.   
The biography was… disturbing. With confirmed kills in the high thousands, Morgana was one of the most feared witches of her time, and she’d been around for almost 3000 years. She seemed to revel in burning established societies to the ground, targeting people and places of influence and then wiping them off the map. Few people knew what drove her, but there were apparently unsubstantiated claims that her parents and village had shunned her for being a witch in a time when witches were hated and feared, and their cruelty had turned her into the monster they always saw. The thought made Tara shudder.   
Her killings had died down in the last century or so; she’d pop up every so often, have her minions run amok, and then disappear again to where not even Titania could locate her. Her last recorded attack was on a village near the Mists of Time. The village where Thalia and Astrid had grown up. 

Tara was so engrossed in the book that she didn’t notice the older woman enter the room until she caught sight of a pair of golden eyes beside her. Tara screamed, the book flying across the room, and it took Amaryllis a good several minutes to calm her down. The motherly figure had noticed a light on in the library and claimed to have come to check it out when she had found Tara pouring over ‘Welcome to Aurellius’. The similarity in appearance between her and the book’s illustration was close enough that unease had settled in Tara’s shoulders. It wasn’t just the eyes that had her wary; Amaryllis’ prominent cheekbones and full features, although softer in appearance, were closely reminiscent of Morgana’s.   
Tara hadn’t had time to get to know the boarding-house director overly well, so she wasn’t entirely at ease in her presence. It seemed Amaryllis had noticed this, along with the thinly concealed worry that Tara now looked at her with. Raising a glowing hand, Amaryllis summoned the book from where Tara had tossed it, frowning slightly as the pages flicked to Tara’s last bookmark. Tara squeaked quietly, shrinking in on herself in the woman’s silence. Finally Amaryllis sighed and lowered the book.  
“I see you’ve been reading about my sister,” she said. There was no reproach in her tone as she perched herself next to Tara, and her words took a moment to process. The word ‘sister’ floated around her thoughts for a moment. “So,” she continued. “What is it you want to know?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think that I'm going to keep it that Tara managed to kill the fire giant, it seems kinda OP and out of place, but until I go back and change it it's still in there for now.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we have our first flashback chapter.

3 years ago.

“Everybody packed? I don’t want to have to turn around and come back because someone forgot their pillow case. Got everything?”  
Tara hid behind the stair-case banister for the majority of the moving day chaos. A strange feeling had settled over her, not quite excitement (because who in their right mind would be excited about spending two hours in a minivan with her older siblings), more some sort of anticipation. She was in no way sad about leaving this house; Although ostentatious with its marble banisters and modern chandeliers, it held too many bad memories. The makeshift lock she’d built for her door had long worn out, and her siblings knew all of her hiding places. If she squinted her eyes funny, she could still make out the slight stain at the bottom of the staircase from that unfortunate incident that had required four stitches in her hair-line. Yes, it was definitely time to leave this place.   
The strange feeling flared inside her again, almost as if something was calling to her from afar. It fed her impatience, her desire to get out, to go somewhere else. It was a similar odd sensation to the one she had felt when she had found the real estate brochures on the kitchen table, and that one particular place had caught her eye. She wasn’t sure what had drawn her to it; the place was out in the middle of nowhere, a large house that had apparently been uninhabited for years. Plenty of room for the large family to avoid each other, far away enough from the city that the paparazzi wouldn’t be able to hassel them. It sat on the edge of a large, practically unmapped forest, and their driveway would be so long it would take a ten minute walk to get to the main road to catch the school bus. She had done everything she could to get her parents to pick that house; hiding brochures all around the house for them to find, forging her mother’s handwriting and highlighting it on their favourites list, even hinting to her siblings how much she would absolutely hate living at that one particular house so that they’d go and advocate it to her parents themselves. She had even, as a very last resort, actually told her parents her preference on the new house. She wasn’t sure they paid any attention, but she at least tried. She still wasn’t sure why, but she tried, and it had all added up. They were moving to the house in the forest. 

As soon as the van was ready, Tara dived in to secure her seat. It would be a cramped ride, eight kids jammed into the car-seats, and loud. Tara was glad she packed her ear-plugs, her siblings’ raucous arguments and squeals grating on her ears. She’d always had trouble with loud noises, and it was a weakness her siblings loved to exploit.   
“Oi, shove over!” growled one of her brothers, jamming his elbow into her ribs. She yelped and tried to make herself as small as possible. It was better for her to cooperate. No point starting a conflict in an enclosed moving space. She spent most of the ride staring out the window, watching the trees pass. Tara liked trees. She liked climbing them, she liked talking to them, hugging them. Her siblings thought she was weird. She probably was. The only problem was, her siblings didn’t like wierd, and anything they didn’t like they used as a punching bag.   
If anyone asked, she blamed the bruises on falling out of the trees she hid in.   
Maybe that’s why she felt so drawn to this new home: It sat on the edge of a forest. She doubted her siblings would stray too far into the uncharted territory, but Tara had no such qualms. The quiet voices of nature were far preferable to the loud ones of her brothers and sisters.   
Still those voices felt as though they were calling out to her. 

“Are we there yet?” came her brother’s whine. Charles was two years older than her, and yet he still acted like a four-year-old. Three hours in the car was far too long for him to sit still without anything to hit. He didn’t dare strike his other brothers -they were his idols- or his sisters - they showed even less mercy than the boys - and Tara, to her relief, was out of his reach. So instead he took out his boredom vocally, to the annoyance of every other passenger.   
“We’ve been driving for hours! Shouldn’t we be there by now?”   
“We’ll be there soon, we’re just having a bit of trouble with the map,” called Dad from the driver’s seat. Several map books were spread across Mum’s lap, none apparently showing the correct way to their new house.   
“Turn left now,” the monotone voice of the GPS signalled. There was no left turn available.

A sudden urge came over Tara. She couldn’t explain it, but the words were out of her mouth before she could stop herself.   
“Pass me the map,” she called, surprised at how sure the words sounded. The car went silent, most eyes turned to face her. For once she didn’t shrink away, though every instinct told her to become invisible again. The far-off voices sounded louder, more urgent. She was sure she must be going mad.   
“Pass me the map please,” she repeated with more force, surprising even herself. “I think I can find where to go.”

The truth was, Tara had no idea where to go. It was almost as if the words she’d said were not her own, as though something, someone, had prompted her to say them. 

“Can you even read a map?” one of her siblings jabbed. Tara was surprised when she didn’t flinch at his tone. A strange sort of calm had taken over her. It filled her with warmth, and she quietly savoured the feeling, whatever it may be that was causing it.   
“Yes, I can read a map,” Tara replied. A part of her wouldn’t have been surprised if they had laughed it off and refused to humour her. A part of her was surprised when her mother handed the map books to Charles with instructions to pass them back to her. No part of her was at all surprised when he threw them at her as hard as the cramped space would allow. She couldn’t have all the good luck today, could she?  
For a moment she stared at the map. The roads and hills were unfamiliar to her. How on earth did she think she would find the way? Suddenly words, directions popped into her mind out of nowhere. The sceptic in her told her it was her imagination going wild. She’d always had a vivid imagination. As a child she’d read book after book of fantasy, climbed trees and pretended she was a dragon. Sometimes she’d imagine the lily plant in their backyard talked to her, when she was feeling particularly lonely. But the warm tingling inside her grew the more she pondered the words, and before she knew it they were rolling off her tongue.  
“Turn right at the next road.”

*

The long, winding driveway snaked between two tall cliffs, which cast the entire valley into shadow. Nestled between the tree-lined walls was a great white mansion, its stone walls overgrown with ivy. Its grandeur was clear to see behind its rustic exterior, and it was no wonder her rather hoity-toity family had been happy to move here. Behind it the valley opened up into lush forest, the towering foliage creating a great green canopy behind the house. From what Tara could see, the valley encompassed the centre of the forest in a giant ring, trees spilling up the rocks to continue the forest’s spread on top of the cliffs. It was… Beautiful was the only word she could think of to describe it. 

Despite supposed years of uninhabited, the house was in perfect condition. A short entry hallway opened up to a large atrium which featured an ornate spiral staircase and a glittering crystal chandelier . Rooms and hallways ran off in every direction - Tara would have to catalogue them later. Perhaps she could find some new hiding places: This place looked old enough that it might even have some secret passageways! It had always been a dream of Tara’s to find a house with a secret passageway. Especially one that her siblings didn’t know about. The place had a feel of magic about it, and she couldn’t wait to explore the forest beyond. 

The strange feeling Tara had felt earlier that day had somewhat subsided, to her slight disappointment. She still was unsure what had caused the sensation, but she had chalked it down to the excitement of moving house. By the time her room was allocated and her bed unpacked, the feeling had left entirely, leaving her empty and exhausted. She collapsed onto the covers, fully dressed, and within minutes was fast asleep.  
The mysterious voice came to her again in the middle of the night. Tara couldn’t understand its words, but she understood its purpose: It was calling to her.   
Ooookaayyy… Tara thought sleepily. This is not weird at all…  
Assuming she was actually hearing something and wasn’t just going insane, the question was should she follow it?   
What the heck. Following some spooky calling into the trees was better than staying in the house with these lunatics any day of the week, especially since no one would notice she was gone. Of course, Tara wasn’t a complete idiot with zero common sense. Even at ten years old she’d heard enough horror stories to know wandering about in the dark and scary woods often didn’t end well. Which was why she left prepared: A knife swiped from a fishing kit, two torches with extra batteries, a lighter and a candle in case those failed, some salt (she’d read something about salt being used for protection from a book at the local library), and a phone should she need to call for help. Also stuffed in her knapsack was a silver ring in case of werewolves, a loaf of garlic bread (don’t judge, it was all she could find) for vampires, and an iron ore souvenir bracelet she got from Queensland in case of ghosts. It was iron for ghosts, wasn’t it? Not that she actually believed in anything like that, but she was following a mysterious, seemingly non-corporal voice from her head. Better safe than sorry.   
It was easy enough to slip silently past her sleeping family members and down the stairs to the back door. It had obviously been recently oiled too, as the hinges swung soundlessly despite the weight of it. There was a large backyard attached to the property, and Tara followed the hedge-lined pathway to the gate, which opened into the endless expanse of trees.   
At the border of the property, Tara hesitated. Was she really doing this? Sure, she’d wanted to explore the forest, but on the first night? While following some figment of her imagination presenting itself as a beckoning voice? Alone? Although really, who else would she explore it with? It wasn’t like her siblings were all that great for company. Oh well. If she got eaten by a demon coyote or something, so be it. No one would miss her anyway.   
A soft rustling sound met her ears as a breeze rushed through the foliage. ‘Come,’ it seemed to say, and before she knew it, her legs were moving.   
She didn’t need her torch. Shimmering flecks of moonlight peppered the undergrowth, lighting the ground as if it were day. Without her direction, her feet found a path, a worn track picked out by the moon’s mottled silver glow.   
This is strange, she thought. Was it the lack of light pollution causing such a brilliant light display, or was it simply the fullness of the moon on a cloudless night? Tara didn’t know enough about astrology, or whatever it was called, to make an informed judgement, so she decided to ignore those questions for the time being. Maybe she’d find some books on it the next time they visited town.   
As she followed the path, the strange calm feeling she’d enjoyed earlier that day returned, settling gently over her anxiousness. She began to take note of the flora around her, various tall spreading trees and flowering shrubs growing willy nilly through the undergrowth. The place felt somehow familiar, almost as if she’d seen it before. Her feet took her to a clearing, carpeted by soft moss which appeared turquoise under the moonlight. Above her the constellations shone bright like a thousand winking fairies in the cloudless night sky. The clearing must have been at the edge of the valley circle, a tall, vine covered cliff-face making up the far north wall. Water cascaded down a section of it, pooling into a lagoon which stretched into a brook through the trees, the soft sound soothing to Tara’s senses. She vaguely wondered how far she’d walked to reach the valley wall. Her feet weren’t even aching. 

The niggling feeling of belonging grew stronger. There was something about this place that felt like home, like she was meant to be here all along. She was about to set herself down on the mossy carpet when something whistled past her ear. An arrow embedded itself in a tree behind her with a solid thunk. Tara gasped.  
Another arrow whizzed past as she fumbled in her knapsack for the fishing knife. Fear coursed through her, replacing that unnatural calm with her usual panic. Someone was actually shooting at her!  
Abandoning her rushed search for the fishy-smelling blade, Tara began to run. The sound of rustling leaves followed her, heavy thudding footsteps echoing on wooden branches occasionally pierced by whistling arrows. As long as those sounds were hot on her heels, Tara kept running, zigzagging through the trees not only in an attempt to lose her pursuer, but because she had read running in straight lines made you easier to hit. She wasn’t sure what direction she was going, only that she had to keep moving. Memories of rough-skinned hands grabbed at her arms, and she couldn’t tell herself ‘everything’s OK, no one’s there, you’re safe,’ because no, she wasn’t. There was someone there, everything was not OK and she was definitely not safe because they were darn well shooting at her with a bow and arrow!   
Tara skidded around a thick tree trunk and the forest went silent. For a fraction of a second, she wondered if she’d lost whoever was chasing her, but then a red-haired figure dropped nimbly to the forest floor in front of her and Tara screamed. 

She was a young girl about the same age as Tara, ten or so, with a wild mane of loose red curls and bright eyes which stared at Tara with terrifying intensity, as though the girl’s gaze alone could swallow her up and drown her. Scariest off all was the drawn bow and arrow she held in whitened knuckles, which was levelled at Tara’s face.   
A faint part of Tara’s mind marvelled at the arm strength the young girl must have possessed in order to draw the bow so steadily. The more situationally aware parts were frozen in terror at the fact that SHE HAD AN ARROW POINTED AT HER FACE! Those parts were, in her opinion, her more sensible parts of her mind.

“Who are you, and how did you find this place?” the young archer demanded. Tara’s thoughts were fluctuating between numb blankness and working on overdrive, running through dozens of scenarios and calculations as to how this could go. As such, it was a moment before the question registered, and another before she was able to reply.   
“I… I’m Tara?” she squeaked. “And I… uh… I read a map?”  
The girl’s eyes narrowed. The arrow did not waver.   
“You read a map,” she repeated, sounding unconvinced. “The Forest of Life isn’t on any map. So tell me, how did you really find this place?”   
“I don’t know!” Tara raised her hands and began to back away, fear turning her legs to jelly, but her retreat was impeded as she backed into a tree. Words started spilling out, panic dissolving her verbal filter as she attempted to provide an explanation. Never mind that the explanation was insane. She had an arrow pointed at her face.   
“We were lost trying to find our new house, so asked my parents to pass me the map. And, this is gonna sound crazy, but when I took the map, I kinda heard some sort of… I don’t know… voice? Sort of… calling to me? And it told me which way to go, and we ended up here. That’s all I know! Please don’t shoot me!”  
The girl’s eyes widened and she slowly lowered the bow. Tara released a breath she hadn’t realised she was holding and leant against the tree, gasping in air. Behind her back, she subtly rummaged through her knapsack.   
“Did you just say the forest called to you?” The girl’s gaze had softened to one of wary curiosity. She watched Tara for a second, taking in her hesitant nod, then sheathed her arrow entirely. Tara took the opportunity and threw the contents of her hidden fist at the other girl’s face.   
The archer stiffened, her eyes and mouth snapping shut, then opening again slowly.   
“Did you just throw garlic bread and salt at my face?” she deadpanned.  
“Maybe,” Tara shrank.  
“Do I even want to know why you brought a loaf of garlic bread into the forest?”  
“...Vampires?”  
The girl sighed and set down her bow.   
“It’s Tara, isn’t it?. Sorry I almost shot you. The forest doesn’t just invite anyone in.” She held out a hand for Tara to shake. “The name’s Natasha. Wanna be friends?”  
“Uhhhhhh… What?”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not gonna lie, I absolutely adore the second half of this chapter. It was so fun to write.   
> Just a warning though, this fic is has a warning for graphic violence for a reason. Content warnings are in the end notes if you're worried about that sort of thing.

Present day.

Estelle was alone in the training room, which still smelled slightly like burning socks after Thalia’s rage a few days earlier. Her new silver lasso was wrapped around her forearm, glinting in the harsh white lights of the gym. Thalia was out, visiting the Melbourne Magic District for some coffee or something (Why she’d want to travel all that way for a cup of coffee, Estelle had no idea,) so Estelle was in the clear. Excitement bubbled inside her as she set up the target dummies. When she was done, she paused, raising her fingers in a frame and cocking her head, as though she were an artist examining her work. It needed something else, she decided. After a second of rummaging in her bag and another minute of drawing, the dummies now featured exaggerated frowns drawn in glitter glue. Perfect!  
Estelle uncoiled the rope. Despite being made of metal, it was light in her hands, and flexible. If she held it at one end, the magical metal would bend into a solid handle. A bit of experimentation later, and she discovered that she could reshape the rope into a range of different things. If she held it into the middle and flicked outwards, it could straighten into a solid staff. If she folded it in half and grabbed both ends, it could be nunchucks. With a bit of thought, she could create a grappling hook, lengthen or shorten it, even turn it into a frisbee by winding it up into a roll. Each time the rope cooperated with her intentions, although trying to turn it into a broad sword didn’t end up working. Oh well. She’d have to see what its limitations were another time. Knowing what she could and couldn’t use it for could come in handy, especially if she was travelling light for some reason. 

While Estelle loved her trainer to bits, Thalia wasn’t exactly the most trusting person. Until her and Tara’s trip to the weapons room, Thalia hadn't let her anywhere sharp objects. Something about not trusting her to handle dangerous weapons without hurting herself or others. What Thalia didn’t know, because she hadn’t yet told her, was that Estelle had been shooting hunting rifles down at the local firing range since she was old enough to sign up. She could recite every safety procedure, every rule and regulation for weapons ownership off by heart, and could hit a bullseye from 100 metres away. She was perfectly capable of responsible weapons use, thankyou very much, and had proved it to everyone who had allowed her to. People, Thalia included, often forgot that Estelle was more than a mischievous kid who played childish jokes and left glitter everywhere. They forgot about the jagged scars which ran the length of her spine and clawed at the back of her neck, even though the tips of the scratches rose high above her collar. They forgot that she had survived a week in monster-infested woods being chased by the witch who slaughtered her village, and that the ashen fox mark was also burned into her memory as well as Thalia’s. Estelle never wanted to feel helpless again. It was why she had asked Princess Amaryllis to let her train under the Royal Guardians in the first place. 

The whip cracked faster than Estelle could see, and suddenly her glitterfied dummies were in pieces.   
“Whoah!!!!!” Estelle squealed, almost like a giddy school girl presented with a Hello Kitty bazooka. “Oh, I am so keeping this!”

The hallways of Alenya were empty at this time of day. Luna would be out tending to her flower garden like she was every day they didn’t have a mission, and her sister Fay would still be out for her morning jog. Thalia was out for ‘coffee’, of course, and Astrid would be in her studio, painting her thoughts out onto canvas. None of the others knew much about Astrid’ secret hobby, but Estelle had made it her business to find every nook, crannie and secret in this building during her stays and had happened across many things the others didn’t know. In fact, she probably knew the place and its routines better than the Guardians themselves. Which was why it was such a surprise when she ran into someone in the halls.   
Ah. The new Guardian. Estelle hadn’t been around Tara or her sister enough to learn their habits, but it was clear the short red-head was a nervous one. Also a bookworm, which personally, Estelle could approve of. She was walking down the corridor absorbed in a heavy tome, which she dropped with a startled squeak upon noticing another person in the space, quickly scrambling to pick it up again. Estelle winced, both at her reaction and the heavy thud with which the book landed on its spine. Thank goodness for anti-damage enchantments.   
“Oh, ah, Estelle!” Tara perked up upon seeing who it was. Despite her outwardly meek appearance, Estelle sensed a slight mischievous streak in her that occasionally showed itself through the cracks of her verbal filter in the form of dry sass. That alone was enough to make Estelle want to know her better. It would be nice to have someone near her own age to gang up on Thalia with. “Watcha been up to?”  
Estelle leaned in close and with a conspiratorial wink, lifted the hem of her shirt to reveal the silver whip wrapped around her waist as a belt. “When the Thalia’s away, the Estelle doth play.”  
Tara stifled a snort, only reinforcing Estelle’s theory about her sense of humour.   
“I’m just heading to see Mum,” Estelle continued, then blinked, realising what she had said. “Ammy!” she corrected, barely embarrassed even as Tara cracked a grin. It happened from time to time. She’s sure even the ever-stoic Astrid had called their boarding house supervisor ‘mum’ at some stage, and she wasn’t even legally adopted by the woman. Estelle gave one of her usual mischievous smirks. “She’s promised to teach me how to build snare traps.”   
“Amaryllis?”  
“Yeah!” Estelle grinned, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “You know she used to be a Royal Guardian, right? She knows how to make lots of traps. One time she taught me this technique to-”  
Tara listened politely as Estelle fangirled over Amaryllis’ teachings, but she could tell the other girl was waiting to say something. She was fidgeting, playing with the laces of her wrist brace and looking like she was choosing her words carefully.   
“-And so that’s how she taught me to make a complex netting system.”   
“Estelle?” Tara broached quietly. Her eyes were slightly glassed over as she appeared lost in thought. “Did you know Amaryllis was Morgana’s sister?”   
“Oh,” Estelle blinked. She hadn’t quite expected the conversation to take this direction. “Yes. It’s not something she really tries to hide.”   
Tara nodded thoughtfully, though her eyes still didn’t focus. Estelle could only wonder what was going on in that brain of hers. She didn’t look upset, or angry, or distrustful, only ponderous, as if she was running scenarios through her head and storing the outcomes away for later.   
“She would have had to fight her, wouldn’t she?” Tara said. “As a Royal Guardian.”   
Ohhh. Estelle wasn’t quite sure what her endgame was, but it was clear Tara was thinking about the new case. And she was involving her. Estelle was so used to being brushed aside as ‘too young to worry about these things’ by the older Guardians that the thought of actually being part of a case felt like a shot of caffeine straight to the excitement reflex.   
“What are you thinking?” Estelle prompted and Tara’s gaze gained a little more clarity.   
“I’m thinking…” she began, her grip tightening on the spine of her book, “that if we’re going to be chasing down this witch, we need to know everything we can about her; her methods, her patterns, how she fights. Thalia can tell me some things, but she’s never met her in person. Amaryllis has. And she lets me ask her questions.”   
The smile Tara gave had an edge to it Estelle had never seen from the younger girl. It tugged at the corner of her mouth on one side and glinted in her eyes, a promise of plans already half-formed and strategies clicking into place.   
Estelle left her to her ideas with a parting grin of her own. She liked this new girl. 

A strange tingling sensation began in the pit of Estelle’s stomach.   
Am I hungry? She thought. A raid of the house fridge disproved this theory, although she did enjoy the entire chocolate block she downed. The tingling continued, however, and instead of shrinking, was only growing stronger. Estelle scrunched her nose and tried to think of what might be causing it, but came up empty. Maybe she needed to sneeze? She wasn’t sure. Maybe a trip to the library would diagnose her?   
The hallways seemed unendingly long today, Estelle thought. Both Luna and Fay should have been back from their activities by now, but she’d seen no one else around sinceTara several hours ago. And what was this strange light she could see?

With a flash Estelle was no longer in the halls of Alenya. Gnarled trees stretched around her, their limp branches reaching towards her like the arms of shadowy wraiths. Darkness was settling in the open sky above her, and a cold wind was whistling through the foliage, its wail adding to the ghostly atmosphere.   
Estelle’s left wrist was glowing. Why was her wrist glowing? What was that strange swirling pattern on her skin? She didn’t have a tattoo. When did she get a tattoo?   
Wait…  
Is this a Mark? Did I just get given a mission?

*

“Oh, hey Thalia. How was the coffee?”   
Tara’s mind hadn’t run this fast in a while, and she was somewhat frantic in getting her ideas onto paper. She almost didn’t notice her trainer enter the lounge until she cleared her throat, eyes widely taking in the mess of books, paper and diagrams spread across the coffee table. Tara waved with one hand, the other still busy scribbling questions to ask Amaryllis on a napkin from the kitchen, having run out of paper.   
“The uh… coffee was… hot,” Thalia smiled, and Tara sensed the heat rising in Thalia’s cheeks. It was funny how, when her brain was in a hyperactive state like this, her powers tended to start feeding her extra information. The hypersensitive hearing was bad enough to deal with without additional sensory input.   
“Yeah?” Tara replied, still focussed on her papers. She could feel Thalia’s curious gaze on the back of her head, but at the moment the older girl seemed content to chat about her outing rather than question the mess of illegible handwriting before her. “I have burn cream if you need it.”   
“Uh, no, it wasn’t that sort of hot.”   
“Oh,” Tara shrugged, adding to her analysis of Astrid’s specialties. “Spicy then?”  
“Um, yes. That. Sure.”   
“Hmm,” she hummed. “I didn’t know they put chilli in coffee? Is that a new recipe or something? Like chilli chocolate?”   
“Yeah,” Thalia sighed. Tara heard the distinct sound of a palm hitting a face. Finally Thalia addressed the mess. “So what’s all this then? It looks like one of Estelle’s bombs has gone off, minus the glitter.”   
“I’m strategizing.”  
“What?” A crease formed between Thalia’s eyebrows and she strode towards the table, picking up one of the scattered pages to examine it. Her brows rose as she took it in, almost disappearing into her choppy black fringe.   
“Did you do all this?” she asked, turning the page for Tara to see. Tara’s shoulders tensed, her pencil pausing in its mad scribble. “I’m not mad,” Thalia said quickly. “I just want to know.” The page was on Luna, an analysis of her fighting style and powers based on what Tara already knew about her.  
“I, uh, had to estimate most of the values, and I haven’t actually seen her fight in person,” Tara rushed “So most of it is just guesses, but -”  
“It’s accurate,” Thalia cut her off. She stared at the writing with a good measure of curiosity. “How’d you work all this out?”   
“I… um…” Tara stuttered. She could probably come up with some sort of lie about watching martial arts movies as a kid or something, but was it really worth it? Was it really so bad to tell Thalia the truth?  
“I learnt a lot about how people fight from watching my siblings,” she swallowed, choosing her words carefully. She couldn’t quite bring herself to look at Thalia’s expression. “I would try and predict when they were going to… going to hit me. I figured, if I could work out their patterns, I could watch for hints to see when they would swing. It makes it a lot easier to dodge when you know when they’re going to punch.”   
She regretted it the second the words left her mouth. She could feel Thalia’s gaze boring holes into the back of her head, probably something like pity, or confusion, and Tara didn’t want to wait around for the inevitable storm of sympathies or questions.   
Thalia opened her mouth, but Tara was already moving towards the door, head ducked and unfinished profile in hand, leaving the older girl to stare after her in apparent shock, surrounded by a scattered mess of papers. 

Tara barely closed the door of her room behind her before her vision blurred and her legs decided holding her up was too arduous a task. She fumbled with the lock, then slid against the door, bracing herself to ride out the wave of panic which was constricting her lungs.   
She had told Thalia the truth. In fact, it hadn’t even been that hard. Part of her had been glad to say the words aloud. Her siblings hit her. It was something she’d ached to tell someone for years. So why was she now panicking?   
That’s the first time you’ve really said it, her brain offered helpfully. Sure, your sister knew, but you’d never flat out told her, or anyone else for that matter.   
Yeah? She retorted. Then why am I panicking?  
I don’t know, her brain seemed to shrug, useful as always. Ask your brain chemicals.  
You make the brain chemicals!

The sound of knuckles rapping on wood reached her ears, simultaneously deafening and muted to her senses. Her fingers clawed over her pointed ears, tangling themselves in her hair as she curled in on herself against the door.   
“Tara?” Thalia’s voice was soft, but it still grated on her ears. She could hear the other girl breathing quietly outside, and was sure her teacher could hear her ragged breaths equally as loudly. She didn’t want her to see her like this, freaking out over a few little words. But at the same time, Tara was sick of being left alone to deal with things by herself. There was someone outside the door worried about her. There was someone out there who wanted to make sure she was OK.   
Tara shakily clicked the lock open. 

“Hey.” Thalia’s voice was soft. She eased the door open gently. There were papers in her hand. “You left these behind.”  
She didn’t comment on how Tara’s hair hung tangled and loose from her braid, or on the ugly red splodges that likely surrounded her eyes. Her gaze did linger, for a second, on the spots of blood that had blossomed on her palms where her nails had dug into the skin. She carefully set the notes down on the table instead of handing them to her, and slid down the wall to sit beside her.  
It took longer than usual for Tara’s breathing to return to normal, for her to be calm enough not to flinch when Thalia pressed a gauze to her bleeding palms. She hadn’t realised the other girl had got up to fetch the first aid kit, let alone how deep her nails had scored until the panic had faded. 

“How you doing?” Thalia murmured.   
“Not great,” Tara replied, a dry chuckle forcing itself from her throat. There was no humour behind it.   
“Want to talk about it?”  
“...Not yet.” She sighed and slid further down the wall. She wasn’t all that keen on starting to hyperventilate again so soon. “Maybe later.”   
Thalia hummed in understanding and rose to her feet.   
“When you feel up to it, I have a surprise for you in the training room,” the older girl said. “Get yourself cleaned up and have a drink of water. It will help.”   
The side of Tara’s mouth twitched into a small smile, and she accepted Thalia’s hand to pull her to her feet.   
Maybe she could talk to this other girl, eventually. But not right now. 

*

Seth had been getting ready for bed when the fire came to his town. He could hear shouting from the streets, and some strange orange light was glowing from one of the buildings out his window. His mother had burst into his room and shoved a pair of shoes in his direction, ushering him quickly towards the door, pleading something about keeping his wings hidden.   
The streets were shrouded in an eerie red haze. Seth could hear the distant sounds of neighbours cajoling their horses into floats, while other echoes called for their sheepdogs through the haze. He clutched tightly at the arm of his stuffed unicorn - he’d long outgrown it, he knew, yet it was all he’d had time to grab in the panic to evacuate. Right now it was his only comfort aside from his mother’s hand.   
Figures moved through the smoke at the end of the street. Seth’s wings shifted uncomfortably under his hastily donned coat. He hadn’t had time to properly fold them and he knew from the way the membranes ached that they could still be seen. If he’d taken just a second longer to settle them, they’d be both intangible and invisible to the naked eye, but instead they were just crushed against his body by the heavy fabric.   
Amid the shouts of a hasty mass exodus, screams could be heard. Seth could have sworn he heard a gunshot in the distance. His father appeared from the shed, the rifle he usually reserved for foxes slung over his shoulder.   
“We need to go,” he urged his wife, pressing a kiss to Seth’s forehead. “We can’t take the car, the smoke’s too thick.”   
“Mum,” Seth tugged at her hand. “Where are the firetrucks? Why aren’t they putting it out?”   
Seth knew that their town wasn’t big. It was a farming community in the middle of a place the locals called “Woop Woop”, home to a single pub and a corner store, and an RSL club where the seniors held their bingo nights. It was also home to the area’s fire station, at which most of the town’s residents were volunteers. The firemen should have been here by now.  
“Honey, the fire trucks can’t come,” his mum almost whispered, sounding very much like she was close to tears. Seth didn’t understand. The firemen always came.   
“It started at the Eliodoro family’s place,” Dad called to Mum, adjusting the strap of his rifle on his shoulder. “They came for them.”

Seth blinked. The Eliodoros were the other Wielder family living in the town. He remembered having play-dates with their daughter when he was younger. They’d race each other through the trees out the back of their field, where the other humans couldn’t stumble across them with their wings out. Her dads practiced witchcraft in the back shed and sold charms for good harvest at the town market. Who would want to hurt them? 

Another gunshot sounded. A tear spilled down his mother’s cheek.   
“They’re going through the town,” she murmured. Seth got the feeling he wasn’t supposed to hear whatever conversation was going on. This seemed like adult talk. 

Suddenly his mother’s arms were around him, pulling him in close. He returned the hug stiffly, confusion filling his face. When she moved away, her hands stayed clutching his shoulders, her tear-filled eyes locked on his.  
“I need you to do something for me, honey,” she said. Screams were starting to drown out shouts as the orange glow around them grew. “I need you to run as fast as you can, get to the highway. We’ll meet you there once everything’s safe.”   
“Why can’t you come too?” Seth whispered, his lip beginning to tremble. He hadn’t cried in ages.   
“Your father and I need to stay here to make sure everyone’s safe,” she replied. He could recognise the strain in her voice, as though she was trying to stay calm for his sake. “Go. We’ll be right behind you.” 

Seth’s feet carried him towards the main street. He was definitely crying by now, tears streaming down his ash-darkened face. Gunshots were sounding more regularly behind him, fuelling his panic as he fled through the burning town. The crack of his father’s rifle answered them.   
The highway. He had to get to the highway. His parents would meet him there. 

Something exploded.   
One minute Seth was in the middle of the main-street road, the soles of his oversized work boots sticking in the melting tarmac, the next he was flying through the air, burning debris stinging his exposed skin. His thick travel coat protected him from most of the shrapnel, but the landing jarred his crushed wings. Sobs wracked his entire frame as he tried to crawl through the rubble of the town pub which blocked the road. In the distance he could see the flames reaching high into the night sky. He wasn’t going to make it to the highway.  
The fireplace of the old-fashioned pub was still standing, a single safe haven in the centre of the destruction. Shaking, Seth dragged himself towards it, curling his small body inside the stone structure and praying it would protect him from the heat. That’s what fireplaces were built for, wasn’t it? To stop the fire from getting past its edges? Seth remembered passing the ruins of old farmhouses in the country where the only thing standing was the fireplace. He assumed it was because it was built to keep standing. Surely he’d be safe here until his parents came? 

He wasn’t sure how long he spent curled against the hot stone, cradling his stuffed unicorn like a lifeline. The flames in the rubble of the pub flickered, making strange, ever changing faces. He couldn’t hear the screams anymore, just the occasional shout, although it sounded more like jeering and laughter than noises of alarm. The almost-silence was eerie. Seth sniffled, then froze as he heard glass crunch underfoot.   
“Mum? Dad?” he cried, his tiny hands worrying at the horn of his toy.   
The slow crunching of footsteps grew closer, accompanied by the sound of fabric whispering across the stone. A ragged hemline came into view.   
There was a woman. Seth hadn’t seen her around town before, but he assumed she had come to help with the fires. In Seth’s experience, farmers didn’t usually wear dresses and armour, so he guessed she was a Wielder like him. Her dress was orange, although soot and ash from the fire made it more grey, and some sort of weird red stains were splattered on her hem. She had a thick-looking leather bodice and a strappy belt thing across her chest with a bunch of knives on it. He wondered what she needed them for.   
“Hey there, little one.” Her voice was rich, but a little husky from the smoke. She looked down at him with what appeared to be a mixture of concern and curiosity. Seth thought her eyes looked like a fox’s, all golden and mean looking. But she was here to rescue him, so she couldn’t be all that mean.   
Broken glass crackled as she crouched down in front of him. Her gaze flicked to the end of his wing, poking out from the bottom of his jacket, and she cocked her head, the image of a fox still lingering in his mind.   
“You seem lost, little faerie.”   
Seth nodded. The fox lady reached out and ruffled his hair, a little rougher than he was used to from his mother.   
“People are looking for you,” she huffed, rising to her feet. “You’ve caused quite the stir.”   
“Where is everyone?” Seth whimpered. His mother must have sent this lady to find him after he didn’t make it to the highway.   
“I’ll show you.” She offered him her hand. Seth paused. Something was niggling at him not to take it. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it.   
“If you stay here you’ll eventually burn to death,” the fox lady growled at his hesitation. A flicker of something akin to annoyance flashed across her features. Seth felt the blood drain from his features and he quickly grabbed her hand and followed her through the ruins. 

The woman’s grip was strong, insistent. She hurried through the smouldering streets, unheeding of Seth’s cries for her to slow down as he stumbled along behind her. How she could see where she was going in the darkness, he had no idea.   
Pain shot through Seth’s ankle as his foot caught on something. He lost his balance, sprawling against the ground, and the woman stumbled from the sudden shift in weight. Shaking with suppressed sobs, Seth crawled to his knees. His hands came away wet with something dark and sticky that glinted in the flickering light from the remaining fires. The same wetness was soaking through the knees of his pants.   
“Keep moving, kid,” growled the fox lady.   
“Is this blood?” Seth whimpered, showing her his hands. He remembered tripping over something and glanced back to see the lumpy form of an arm sticking out of the rubble. Tears pricked his eyes again.   
“Yes, which is why we need to keep moving,” she snapped, tugging at his wrist. He followed her numbly, trying not to think about who the arm could have belonged to, or how so much blood came to be pooling on the ground. Relief flooded over him when the highway stretched out before him and he could see the crowd of people waiting at the emergency gathering point. 

“Look what I found, boys,” the woman grinned, holding up his arm for the small crowd to see. A wave of laughter and jeers went through the group.   
“Mum! Dad!” Seth bobbed, his apprehension evaporating in the excitement of making it back to his parents, and he looked to the crowd for their familiar faces. He was safe now, and there were a bunch of other towns people here as well, so that meant they were safe too. “I’m sorry I couldn’t make it to the highway on my own, but there was this big explosion and the road was blocked, and so I hid in a fireplace which was still standing-” He blinked, still blurting out whatever came to mind. He vaguely realised he couldn’t recognise any of the faces in the crowd. They were watching him with animalistic hunger in their eyes, their gazes lingering for a little too long on his exposed wings.   
“And then this nice lady found me,” he continued with a little less zeal, desperately scanning the faces for his parents. “And she led me here and… OH! My toy! I must have dropped it when I fell over! We have to go ba-” His sentence choked out suddenly. 

Seth froze, his gaze slowly lowering to the hilt of the knife protruding from his stomach that wasn’t there a moment ago. Confusion swirled among the overwhelming pain, springing tears from his too-dry eyes.   
“W-what?” he breathed, something choking and hot bubbling in his throat. The laughter from the crowd fell dim to the screaming in his ears, and he collapsed to his knees.   
“I said I’d take you to your parents, didn’t I,” the fox woman shrugged, her golden eyes glinting. One of the knives was missing from her baldrick. He finally figured out what she needed them for.   
The woman crouched down to his level, bringing herself face to face with him. Her smile showed far too many teeth to be genuine.   
“Do you know what foxes do in chicken coops?” She tilted her head again, batting her eyelashes innocently.   
Of course he did. His father owned a gun for a reason.   
She reached over to ruffle his hair, but he barely felt it through the blinding pain that arched through his body like lightning.   
“You do have such pretty wings, little faerie,” she cooed. “They’ll make lovely ornaments on someone’s wall.” 

Seth gasped as the knife was ripped from his body, and his world descended into painless, blissful darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RIP Seth. Sorry kid. 
> 
> Content warnings for:   
> -Panic attacks (I should probably have tagged that in the other chapter as well, whoops, well, there's quite a few of them going to be throughout this story)  
> \- Graphic violence/descriptions of injuries  
> \- Child murder


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a warning these next couple of chapters will have a fair bit of graphic imagery/mentions of violence.

Thalia kicked absently at a fallen training dummy with the toe of her boot, the head jiggling comically against the springy padded floor. Tara had been in quite the state when she’d left her. To be frank, the casualness with which Tara talked about being physically abused by her siblings, only to immediately panic after, had alarmed her. It had taken all of her self control not to march right into that house and give those adoptive siblings a taste of their own medicine, the only thing stopping her being the thought that it might make things worse for Tara if she ever went back, and the fact that she physically couldn’t just march right in there because the Forest of Life was a closed dimension accessible only to its Guardians and their approved entrants.   
But if she ever saw those jerks in person… No, stop. Tara probably didn’t want her sticking her nose in her business. She was out of the house, out of a toxic environment, and it was not Thalia’s place to be dealing out justice. That didn’t mean she wouldn’t bring the matter to Amaryllis’ attention, though. Thalia was sure she’d be happy to take the shy young girl under her wing. 

The door cracked open, hailing the nervous arrival of Thalia’s pupil.   
“Come sit,” Thalia gestured as she came in. The girl blinked owlishly at her, then perched herself tentatively on the bench beside her.   
“I’m sorry!” Tara blurted. “For before. I get that you don’t think I’m ready to be a Guardian. I just wanted to help out any way that I could.”  
Her words descended into a jumbled mess of muttered apologies and strategies and Thalia had to hold up her hand and stop her just to hear herself think.  
“Woah, woah, woah.” It was Thalia’s turn to blink as she struggled to absorb the barrage of self-deprecation she’d just heard. “Let’s get one thing straight. Despite how it may seem, I appreciate everything you have done and are trying to do. My only wish is that you were a little older when you were dragged into all this. So don’t apologise for trying to make the most of a situation out of your control.”  
She was silent for a second. “Oh.”   
“Yeah. Oh.” huffed Thalia. In actuality, she was very proud of her student after how she handled herself last mission. It didn’t mean she didn’t still want to bundle her up in cotton wool and protect her from the horrors of the world until at least the age of 35, but the decision to bring her here was out of her hands. The least she could do was help her stay alive.   
“The reason I wanted to talk to you was because I got you something while I was out. I ordered it last week after the Mark mission and picked it up today.”  
“Oh, uh… you didn’t have to get me any-”  
“No buts!” Thalia interrupted. “I am your trainer. I care about you. Now, when I took you to the armoury, you said about how you liked the smaller blades because they were lighter and more suited to your size, but the ones you were picking out were utterly useless for you to fight with.”  
The other girl looked as though she wasn’t sure where this was headed. Thalia sighed and continued.  
“So I got a custom blade forged for you.”  
Tara squeaked, her eyes widening as Thalia pulled out a neatly wrapped package. Good gosh, this kid was skittish.   
“It’s built specially for your size and weight. And…” Thalia pinched the bridge of her nose. “Can be wielded in either front or reverse grip.”   
“Soooo… I can hold it backwards?”   
“Yes. You can hold it backwards. I will teach how to not stab yourself.”   
“I…” Tara stuttered, apparently lost for words. “I… Thank you!”   
“Don’t thank me yet, Noodle Arms. I haven’t even shown it to you yet.” 

With a flourish, Thalia pulled the cloth off the package, smirking to herself in slight satisfaction with how it came out. It was a nice blade, flat and about as wide as three fingers, with a single sharp edge. The hilt was wrapped in cream-coloured leather and would fit perfectly into Tara’s small hand. The best part was, with a flick of the wrist the blade could lengthen or shorten, allowing it to be wielded as both a knife and a light sword. If she hadn’t ordered it specifically for the purpose of giving Tara something to protect herself with, Thalia would have kept the thing for herself. She said as much out loud, too.   
“So what do you think?”  
Thalia wasn’t sure what kind of response she should have expected from the kid, but open-mouthed staring was what she got. Rolling her eyes with a smile, Thalia held up the knife to reveal the engraving on its blade.   
“It’s called ‘Fire Lily’. When the bladesmith asked me what I wanted carved into it, I thought of those glowing flowers that grew when you were doing your magic, back in the shopping centre.” Indeed, a stylised image of the flame-wreathed bloom was now etched into the silver.   
“So, you gonna try it?”

In sort of a daze, Tara took the knife from Thalia and wrapped her fingers around the hilt, testing the feel of it in her hand. Thalia watched on like a proud mother as her apprentice gauged its weight and tested both the front and reverse grip.  
“Th… thank you!” Tara stuttered. “It’s nice.”   
“Yeah, it is,” Thalia stood, and moved towards the training area. “Wanna learn how to use it?”   
The determined nod Tara gave her in reply was enough to fill her hope. Yeah. This kid would do just fine. 

*

Tara was about an hour into knife-wielding lessons when it happened. She had thrown herself into the exercises, learning how to keep the blade away from her body and how to use it to defend herself from strikes. She was covered in glitter: Such was the hazard of training anywhere where Estelle had been. As such, she had mistaken the glow for the reflection off some of the sparkling granules. Then the Mark took hold, and she disappeared.   
Even having experienced it before now, it was still a shock. Tara found herself slumped in the middle of a burnt-out street, the remnants of what looked to be a pub strewn across the road before her, melted bar stools and a half-charred dart-board sticking out of the rubble. The marking inside her left wrist was glowing, and she frantically glanced around in search of the other Guardians. No one else arrived.   
Ah. So she was on her own, then. Tara could picture Thalia back at Alenya House, freaking out over her student’s sudden disappearance. She’d just have to make it back to her in one piece, then.   
Tara took a deep breath, shoving her mess of emotions down. She could panic once she was home safe. For now, she had come up with a plan.   
Step 1: Take stock.  
She still had her new knife and its sheath on her when she’d been called on, so she was at least armed. Her boots were sturdy enough, being what she trained in, and her black leggings and dark green singlet were easy enough to move in, if less protective than she would have liked. Her wrist brace was still tight from her training and didn’t need to be adjusted, and the comforting weight of her crystal pendant still hung around her neck. Goodness knows what she’d do if that got lost. She quickly tucked it into the neckline of her shirt to dim its obvious glow.   
Step 2: Look around.  
The small town she was in was clearly abandoned, a recent fire having swept through the entirety of the settlement. The melted remnants of a sign labelled ‘Road subject to flooding’ was perched at the end of a street in a cruel gesture of irony. Before her the fireplace of the pub, along with the half-burnt sign, was all that was left standing, the rest reduced to still-smouldering piles of charcoal and melted glass. Tara was glad for the thick soles of her boots as fragments of glass and twisted nails crunched underfoot.   
She wasn’t really sure what to do after the ‘Look Around’ stage, so decided to keep doing just that until she stumbled upon the next step. 

The fire really had torn through everything, Tara noted dully as she wandered through the desolate street. She swallowed, trying to suppress the icky, crawling sensation of her stomach trying to climb into her throat. Her magic was buzzing under her skin, feeding her information, left, right and centre. She could feel the hotspots still burning under the rubble, sense the sudden fluctuations in temperature as embers reignited some surviving wood, hear the cracking and shifting of moving debris. The dull ache of an oncoming headache had her sucking in extra breaths as she tried desperately to tune out the additional input.   
“Come on,” she mumbled to herself, fingers rubbing circles into her temples in an attempt to soothe the growing migraine. She needed to focus. Focus!

Tara hated this; not being able to control her powers, being forced to endure random and inconsistent changes in what she’s hearing and feeling, not being able to shut it down when it gets too much to handle. She wished she had her earplugs with her, but they were sitting on her bedside table back at Alenya.   
Obviously she hadn’t been watching where she was going, because after a minute of wrestling with her own senses, she found herself on the ground, her knees throbbing where they had hit the asphalt. Her mind snapped back to the present, and she cursed herself for not paying attention, only to regret that sentiment when she saw what she had tripped over. 

Nope! She was not prepared for this. As much as she had known beforehand that something like this would inevitably come up, there was no way she could have prepared herself to encounter the real thing. Bile was rising in her throat, and it was all she could manage to not throw up all over the charred and disembodied limb which was lying before her.   
People had died here. She was already too late. Why would the Mark send her somewhere like this, when all she could do was count the dead she hadn’t been around to save? Who had killed them? Were they still here?   
Phantom hands clawed at her exposed arms. No one had come to save them. No one cared.   
No. Stop. You are OK. There’s no one there. You’re safe.  
Tara repeated the words over in her head, even though she knew the last part wasn’t true. She didn’t know if she was safe. But she had to keep going. She had to do whatever she was sent here to do and get home. The thought that she hadn’t been sent to save people still weighed on her, but she reasoned there must be something else more important that needed to be done. She just had to figure out what that was. 

Pointedly not looking at the remains of the arm, Tara clamboured to her feet, brushing the soot and flaked blood that wasn’t her’s from her knees. It was a small blessing, she supposed, that the shock of what she had seen had jarred her senses into quieting, so her powers were no longer threatening to overwhelm her as the minutes crawled on. Shakily she continued her sweep of the town, shutting her eyes as she came across more burnt corpses, her mental tally of casualties growing. The times she had forced herself to look, she had seen a range of lethal injuries, from what appeared to be bullet wounds, to broken necks, and of course the still-steaming burns that filled the air with their pungent stench. In some places, however, there were only blood-stains, trailing off into drag marks. Tara hoped they were from survivors treating the wounded. Somehow, she doubted it. The thought did nothing to comfort her. 

“Darn it Mark!” she yelled to the empty street. By now frustration had overtaken her fear, and she had let it. It gave her something else to focus on. “You couldn’t have at least sent some instructions? What am I supposed to be doing here? Earning some more ‘Trauma Points’? How many do I need to earn a visit to a therapist?”  
The Mark didn’t answer. She didn’t really expect it to.   
Tara rolled her eyes exaggeratedly at the invisible entity and resumed her fruitless search of the burnt-out town. 

Finally, footprints. Tara had read that there was a lot you could tell from a set of footprints. She was by no means an expert, but she could tell the difference between the heavy work-boot tread of the local farmers, and the feminine heeled shoes that left these tracks. A particularly clear print left in some… well… some blood… showed an image that would have been carved in the sole. It looked like… what was that?   
Crumpets. It looked like a fox. 

Tara sighed deeply through her nose, too tired to be anything but 90% done with this entire situation without adding a psycho murder witch to the mix.   
“No need to panic,” she murmured to herself, unfurling her wings. “It may not be her. There could be plenty of people out there with foxes on their shoes. They could be mass produced, for all I know. What was it Luna said? She leaves a giant fox symbol burnt into the landscape? I’ll just fly up and check it out and… ah fudgenuggets.”   
The blackened lines across the townscape stood out as plain as day, forming a scorched image of a fox biting its tail like the Ouroboros snake. Tara decided then and there that she was extremely screwed.   
“Well,” Tara deadpanned. After spending hours counting mangled remains, she was beyond feeling at this point. Her cocktail of emotions had been stripped away, leaving behind only a bone-deep tiredness. “Guess I’ll follow the psychopath’s footprints then.” 

*

Thalia was freaking out. Tara had disappeared right in the middle of training, which would have been bad enough, except that Thalia didn’t immediately follow. To make matters even worse, all other Guardians were present and accounted for at Alenya house. Which meant Tara was all alone.   
The Mark had sent her on her first solo mission.   
And, on top of everything, the universe was clearly trying to say ‘Screw you’, because Thalia couldn’t find Estelle anywhere. The silver lasso the nutcase had been eyeing off in the weapons room was conspicuously missing, and Amaryllis hadn’t seen her all day.   
Needless to say, Thalia’s stress levels were through the roof. The last time a Royal Guardian had been sent out on a mission without the others’ knowledge… well, Bella and Rose were still yet to be found, the latter’s sword still sitting untouched by its original owner in Thalia’s room.   
She prayed to whoever was listening that she wouldn’t lose another friend today.   
“Don’t you dare get yourself killed, kid. You’ve still got training on Monday,” she whispered. She only hoped she’d taught her enough to stay alive.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Boi! He's Here!   
> Also more Estelle chaos.  
> Just beware graphic violence stuff again.

There was a stuffed toy in the middle of the road. It was a unicorn, stained with dried blood and ash. Tara stared at it for a moment, bowing her head in acknowledgement, before forcing herself to move on. She was on the edge of her tether as it was; dwelling too long on the thought of children in this massacre was not something that would end well for her. 

The footprints led to the highway, and because Tara couldn’t catch a break, another pool of blood. No body, this time. Only drag marks. That still didn’t make her feel any better. The footprints also ended here.   
“Well, that’s just great. What now?” she asked no one in particular. “Mark? Got any tips for the beginner here? Nothing? Is this how you usually do things? Drop us in the middle of nowhere with no clue what we’re supposed to do?”   
She slumped, then sighed as her eyes fell on a set of tyre tracks on the ash-caked road. Her wings tingled as they unfurled again, sensitive to the still smoke-filled air.   
“Guess I’m following tyre tracks now.” 

A few hours passed, and darkness had fallen. Tara wasn’t sure how far from the town she had strayed, but she had managed to keep to the trail, alternating between flying and walking to allow her wings to rest. Exhaustion weighed heavy on her limbs, but unless she wanted to crash in a bush, there wasn’t anywhere for her to stop. Eventually it was too dark to see the tracks.  
“Darn it,” Tara cursed. “This sucks.”   
Light. She needed light. There was her necklace, which she yanked from the neckline of her shirt so that its dull blue glow cast dim shadows across the road, but it wasn’t enough. Sighing (she was doing a lot of that lately), she held out her palm and willed the heat to flood through her veins.   
A flame flickered to life in her hand, then sputtered and went out. She tried again, to the same result, the pitiful flames refusing to last. Tara leaned her head back and groaned into the empty night. Of all the times to be uncooperative…   
An idea came to her, and not one she liked. If she tripped and dropped it, or if something happened and she was attacked… It wasn’t something she could afford to lose. But, it was either use it, or stand here in the middle of a pitch black highway until she passed out from exhaustion or the sun rose. Mumbling curses, Tara removed her pendant from around her neck and held in her hand like a flashlight, hovering close to the surface of the road so that its dim glow was cast across the asphalt. It was slow going, following the trail in the dull blue light with exhausted wings and tired eyes, even more so when the path veered sharply off the road and into the brush. Relief washed over her when she saw lights up ahead, bright flood lights that cast the entire area into harsh white.   
There was a campsite. The tyre tracks led right to it.   
“Cos’ this doesn’t seem at all dodgy, having a giant flood-lit camping ground in the middle of the bush,” Tara whispered to herself, gladly tucking her pendant back into her shirt’s neckline, safe and sound around her neck. She’d need a bit more stealth to check out this place, it appeared. 

She’d grown pretty adept at sneaking around without detection, living with eight siblings whose moods were so unpredictable it was better to just avoid them all round. She was, however, just waiting for the cliche moment where she stepped on a twig and a hundred heavily armed guys immediately pounced on her. That was what happened in the movies, wasn’t it?   
Despite that worry, she made it to the area without incident, ears peeled for any sign of approach. As it turned out, what she found was far more than an impromptu camping ground. The lit circular area was surrounded with scattered shipping containers and backed onto what looked like an apartment complex abandoned during construction. The upper floors were still scaffolding, while the lower levels had solid concrete walls. It was a strange thing to see out in the middle of the country, almost as if it had been plucked from the city and dumped here, miles away from its home. Possibly, it had. She’d seen many improbable things since entering the world of magic. 

The sound of voices pricked at Tara’s senses and she darted behind a shipping container as a pair of shadows moved inside the building. There were no windows, so the sound carried out into the campsite. Tara held her breath, focussing on the sound until their muffled words became clear.  
“- got a good haul this raid,” echoed a gruff voice.   
“I’ll say. The kid’s wings’ll fetch a high price.”  
“Poor lil’ cockroach looked so shocked when she offed ‘im.” 

Tara’s breath hitched in her throat. They were talking about killing kids and selling wings. What kind of people were they? She vaguely noticed her nails were digging into her palms again and she hissed in pain as they scraped her day-old wounds. She’d have to train herself out of doing that. It wasn’t healthy. 

“What are we doin’ with the other one we found snoopin’?” one of the men asked and Tara froze. Heat was radiating off her hands and her fingers were beginning to pop with useless sparks. She prayed they wouldn’t be loud enough to hear.   
“I dunno. Don’t usually deal with live ones. But her ‘ladyship’ said she had something planned for her, and you saw what happened to the last bloke to upset her.”  
There was someone here, a prisoner. What if that’s why she was sent here? To rescue them?   
“Urgh, why’re we even workin’ with that harpy?”  
The sound of their footsteps was growing closer. The pair had left the building and were crossing the camp-ground, heading towards where Tara hid. Holding her breath, she slid inside the shipping container that provided her cover, the door being conveniently ajar.   
“Would you rather we not work with her, and she tears our ranks to pieces? Besides, she brings us the good stuff.” 

Their voices became muffled again as they changed direction, heading further away into the trees. Tara breathed a sigh of relief and straightened, looking around her at the contents of the container. Through the dust and darkness rose tall shapes that looked like shelves. With an apprehensive breath, she fumbled for the light switch. 

*

The boy had watched the girl creep through the campground, her movements exaggerated in a way that suggested she had never crept through anywhere with much seriousness before. She was tall, thin as a whip, and her lanky form looked odd crouched in the stiff, comical slink that she used to move across the space. He had tracked her movements through his scope, his crosshairs set on the back of her short-cropped pixie-cut and the slight trail of glitter she left, although his hands were relaxed on the rifle, having no intent to fire.   
He had winced at the absolute inexperience the intruder had shown, the amateur sleuth darting from shipping container to shipping container with about as much stealth as an elephant in a gladiator ring. Actually, that might not have been entirely fair: Though her movements were over the top, looking as though she’d pulled them straight from a 20th century spy movie, her steps were entirely silent. If she were caught, it would be because she was seen, not heard.   
She had continued to move from container to container, then to each of the vehicles, and he wondered what exactly she was looking for… Oh. He could see what she was doing.  
Now he was really interested. He wondered where the heck she got explosives from. Her coat must have had lots of pockets. 

He had felt it when the 7th Guardian had been crowned. The act had rippled through the magical realms, those who had been waiting, sensing the subtle signs of change. For most, it would pass them by, and they would remain unaware of history being made, but for people like him… It meant everything. 

The boy had watched her set her traps, her stealthy movements gradually becoming more natural. She looked about as old as he did, though that wasn’t saying much in a world with immortals. Still, if she was a faerie, they didn’t slow aging until about twenty. She looked far too young to be snooping around poacher outposts, and far too young to be shoehorned into a position as a Royal Guardian.   
For a moment his sight strayed from the back of her head, and he stifled a gasp at what he had failed to notice. A group of poachers had congregated near the door of the unfinished apartment complex, and were preparing to venture out into the campgrounds. The Guardian was also none the wiser, and unless he wanted to give away his position, he had no way to warn her. 

And so he had been forced to watch as the young Guardian was captured, his finger hovering on the trigger of his rifle lest they show any intent to end her life. They hadn’t, and so he had not acted. He wondered if it was the right decision. 

That was over a day ago.  
Now the boy watched another girl scamper across the site, her movements far more careful and practiced than the original intruder. Her shock of bright red hair was lit up like a flame under the floodlights and her bare arms were covered in soot and band-aids. Another Mark Bearer, if the glowing symbol on her wrist was any indication, once again too young to have any part in this life. Protective anger raged in his chest. These children deserved to be home with their families, not out fighting someone else’s war.   
He wondered if that’s what people thought of him when they saw his youthful features behind the scope of a gun.   
She turned, and he could see the faint spray of brown freckles across her pale cheeks, ghostly white under the harsh lights. She was listening to something, and he shifted his gaze again to find the source.

“Darn it,” the boy mumbled. There was another pair of poachers heading her way. She was going to be found.   
His crosshairs drifted back to her, and suddenly he could see just how afraid she really was. She was a child, wide-eyed and innocent. She was not used to the blood and violence of war.   
It had been a while since he had been so innocent. It had been beaten out of him many years ago. 

Just as he was expecting her to be found, the girl slipped inside a container, a wisp of fiery red hair disappearing behind her. 

*

Tara’s scream was cut off by her own hand as she stifled her reaction. The shelves around her were lined with body parts. Wielder body parts. Bones stripped clean of flesh and bleached white pilled one shelf, their unnatural sheen marking them as having belonged to a faerie. Tara had read about her own species in depth, about how their bodies healed faster than humans, about how their bones could not be broken. Jars of blood lined the shelves, and knots of hair were bagged and labelled. A gleaming skull leered at her from the wall, too small to belong to anyone but an infant.   
It wasn’t just faerie remains in the container. A set of vampire fangs were displayed in a glass case, some claws hung from a rack at the far end. A pair of horns were mounted on a board like a trophy.   
These people hunted Wielders for sport. 

Tara closed her eyes, counting her breaths, but it wasn’t just out of fear this time. There was someone left alone in that building with those animals. She sure as heck wasn’t going to leave them there. Sparks flickered at her fingers, but she quashed them under clenched fists, ignoring the stinging in her scratched palms. Steeling herself for the stupidity she was about to embark on, she turned on her heel, practically slamming the lightswitch off as she left the container.   
She was headed into enemy territory. Good thing she knew a thing or two about going unnoticed. 

*

When the girl emerged from what the boy knew to be a container of black market trophies, he expected a look of horror, of fear, of disgust. He was not expecting anger.   
This small, young, scrawny looking teen, who had spent all her time sneaking around hunched in on herself, like she was afraid to even take up space in the world, was striding tall from the door, expression steeled with fiery determination. Then, to his horror, she headed for the main building.   
“No, no, that place is crawling with poachers,” he whispered in alarm. But of course, she couldn’t hear him. He watched her sculk across the campsite with quick, sure strides until she disappeared into the complex, out of his view. Quickly, he settled in his crow’s nest and pressed his eye back into the scope, tightening his grip on the rifle. He couldn’t fire unless he wanted to give away his position, but if it came down to it…   
He’d located the 7th Guardian. He didn’t need to maintain his stakeout for much longer anyway. Helping the Mark Bearers take down a faerie poaching racket was just an added bonus at this stage. Besides, that crazy red-head looked like she needed all the help she could get, even if she didn’t know it was available. 

*

Tara’s senses were working over-time again, but this time she was glad for it, a sudden spike in heat on her radar telling her when a hunter was approaching so that she could secret herself away in the un-finished ceiling panels until the deafening sound of their footsteps faded. Years of sneaking around hallways had served her well.   
“Holding cells, holding cells, come on, where are the holding cells?” she breathed, loud enough only for her own hypersensitive ears to hear. “Bingo.”  
Thank goodness for dumb criminals labelling every door in the place. 

As driven as she was, Tara wasn’t stupid enough to race in blind. Instead she crammed herself into the ceiling space above the door, breathing through the pain of her sensory onslaught to sift through the information it provided. Her head throbbed from fatigue and the jarring volume of each sound, but she hadn’t reached overload levels yet. Instead she grit her teeth and forced herself to focus on one thing at a time.   
Breathing. She could hear breathing. There were three people behind the door, likely two guards and the prisoner. Not good.  
One person, she could take. Two? Oh, who was she kidding, at this stage she could probably barely even take one. She’d been training for what?Two and a bit weeks now? And all she was good at was dodging. Her best bet would be to take them by surprise, but the second she went for one of them, the other would notice.   
Argh, come on! Think!   
The sudden creak of an opening door jarred her from her planning as one of the guards exited the room. A half-formed idea came together in her head.   
Oh, this is a bad idea, this is a very, very bad idea, I am going to get myself killed, she thought.   
Although, she was probably going to die anyway, so what was the worst that could happen? 

The poacher grunted with pain and surprise as Tara dropped from the ceiling panel onto him, combining her meagre weight and the momentum of her fall into tackling him to the ground. It worked better than she could have hoped, her elbow colliding with the back of his head and leaving him out-cold on the floor. Tara squeaked and quickly checked him for a pulse, relaxing when she realised she hadn’t killed him by accident. That was the last thing she wanted to do. Of course, now she still had to deal with the other Mr Beefy behind the door, who had almost certainly heard her entrance outside. 

“Well, well, well. The little faeries are getting real bold these days, huh?”   
Tara stiffened as the door slammed open. She had run out of time.  
Wow. He really is a Mr Beefy, was all her ever-helpful mind had to say before a hand the size of her head clamped down on her wrist and dragged her off her feet.   
He was a huge man, by normal standards, and even huger by Tara’s, with swollen muscles that rippled through his shirt. His face was the definition of square-shaped, with mis-proportioned features that would have been a nightmare to try and draw.   
Do something! Stop trying to work out how to sketch him and DO SOMETHING! She screamed to herself. Her mind remained stubbornly blank. Come on! 

Pain rang through her back as she was picked up like a ragdoll and tossed into a wall. His hand remained locked around her bad wrist, the scar tissue under the brace stretching and straining painfully as it was used to swing her entire body. She gasped for breath, her lungs refusing to cooperate.  
You need to do something! Think! What did Thalia teach you? Grip breaking! You need to break his grip!  
Such a thing was easier said than done when you were only 5’2” with arms like limp noodles, being held by a guy whose hand could probably crush your entire skull. If her bones were capable of breaking, her arm would have splintered under his grip by now.   
Tara managed to raise her other hand to his wrist and desperately dug her nails in, screaming as he twisted her hand a way it wasn’t supposed to bend. With his free hand he drove a fist into her stomach, followed by a knee, until she was on the ground gagging, tears springing to her eyes. Heat flared uncontrollably in her fingers, the weak sparks popping woefully. Mr Beefy laughed.  
“Is that all you’ve got? Gee, even the other one put up a better fight than you.”   
That’s right. There was a prisoner here. She was here to rescue them.  
Tara’s blurry gaze drifted to her flickering fingers, the only magic her pitiful body could manage in her panic. What if it wasn’t so useless after all?  
“Screw you,” she spat, and shoved her smouldering free hand to the exposed skin of his wrist.   
His grip finally broke. 

Beefy’s scream was more of shock than serious pain at the sudden searing burns that had peppered his hand. He lept back, cradling his steaming red wrist to his chest, the marks already quickly fading. Tara hadn’t really wanted to hurt him. It seems her magic had obliged.   
“You little-” he growled. “I’m gonna skin you myself.”   
She didn’t have time to process the horrific nature of the threat as she was busy doing what she did best: Dodging. He was angry now, his movements erratic and predictable, like her siblings, and even with probably bruised ribs it was easier to evade his strikes.   
“Come back here!”  
Tara darted around his right hook and answered with one of her own, which to her dismay did nothing but make him angrier. So much so that he managed to land a hit, sending her flying backwards straight through the wooden door to the holding cells. 

Tara groaned. She was on her back, her ears ringing with the force of the hit. Something wet was running down the side of her face and her hand came away stained with red.   
Someone swore.  
“Tara, are you OK?”   
“Wh… What???” Tara mumbled groggily, looking around for the source of the voice. It sounded familiar, but she couldn’t quite tell over the spinning of her head.   
“What the heck are you doing here?”   
Oh, she knew that voice. It was someone from Aleyna, wasn’t it. Alenya the sentient house. What kind of numpty builds a sentient house? How did it get to be sentient? Tara didn’t know. Tara didn’t know a lot of things, like how she got here, or what she’d been doing before following tyre tracks along a country road, or why she was covered in blood and soot. She was tired, pretty sure she hadn’t slept for two days, and her head hurt, and her ribs hurt, and she hurt, and she really just wanted to sleep.   
“Tara, look out!”   
The sudden cry jerked her back to the present and she rolled out of the way just in time to avoid the fist that came crashing down where she lay.   
“I’m gonna rip you to pieces!”   
Ah. Yeah. There was still that guy. She was in the middle of a fight, wasn’t she. 

“Kick him in the nuts!” came the helpful commentary from the prisoner chained up behind her. Tara was on her feet again, dodging and doing what she could to deflect the strikes of the body-builder poacher. Maybe it was the beginning of a concussion or something, but Tara actually snorted at the comment. She was as good as dead at the moment, so what else could she lose? The second an opening came, Tara kicked her assailant as hard as she could in the nether region.  
In hindsight, it wasn’t the smartest idea: She had read that in an actual fight aiming for the lower area was a pretty bad idea. It was better to use elbows and aim for the squishy bits. But in a stroke of luck, Mr Beefy was a total wimp. She should have guessed from his reaction to the minor burns, but this guy lost it at the kick. Then she aimed for the squishy bits with her elbows. 

“Woooooooooooh!” cheered the prisoner from their cell as the giant man finally slumped to the ground. At last Tara had time to turn and see who it was.   
“Estelle?!?” she gaped at the grinning teen chained to the wall. Her vision was starting to clear, so her head injury may not have been as serious as she first thought, therefore it was unlikely that she was hallucinating. “How did you get here???”   
“Unchain me first, then I’ll explain. Key’s on the big guy.”   
“Urgh. Mr Beefy.” Tara crouched next to the fallen guard, grimacing as she had to search his pockets. Her ribs ached sharply with every movement. They were definitely bruised.   
Estelle cackled. “You called him Mr Beefy? Gosh, I knew you had a sense of humor. Oh, we have got to gang up on Thalia together some time.”   
“If we live,” Tara said simply, eventually snagging the key.   
“We’ll live.” 

It took a couple of tries with the lock but eventually the shackles came free. Estelle rubbed her wrist with a relieved groan, then shoved her arm in front of Tara’s face.   
“Uh, what?” Tara blinked, leaning back from the hand in front of her nose.   
“My wrist!”  
“What about it?”   
“Look at it!”  
“I’m looking at it. It’s right in front of my face.”  
“Oh wait.” Estelle frowned, then turned her wrist around the other way so the inside was facing Tara. “I had it the wrong way round.” 

Tara stared, then grabbed her arm and held it away from her face, squinting at the swirling mess of glowing lines printed on her skin.   
“Is that the Mark?” she gaped.   
“Yep!” Estelle chirped, looking way too energetic for Tara to handle at the minute. “I’m a Royal Guardian now! A Mark Bearer. Eater of cheese. Dispenser of justice. Kicker of ass. All round monster slayer. I’m a Guardian!”  
“Ok, ok, I get it. But how?”   
“How would I know? I was just walking down the corridor and then POOF! I’m in the middle of the woods. Getting kidnapped. And then you show up!”   
“You are way too excited about this situation.”  
“What can I say,” Estelle shrugged, taking back her arm and moving towards the door. “I like explosions.”  
“Wait, what?”  
“Yeah, we should probably get out of here.”  
“WHAT???”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tired Dad makes an appearance.

It was nice to have the cuffs off, Estelle thought. She rubbed the raw red circles they left behind on her wrists, shivering as the whiplash of trying to use her magic while restrained hit her. The poachers had known their stuff: The cuffs they used were made of solid iron engraved with sigils to restrain magical abilities. As such, she had worn herself out testing their limits, and now she was free it was coming back to bite her. Her breath created puffs of steam as she unconsciously lowered the air temperature around her.   
She grinned at how uncomfortable it made the poachers when they came to stop them. 

“What do you mean, explosions?” Tara growled as they ran through the dusty halls. “Estelle, answer me.”   
“I rigged this place to blow,” she replied absently, before darting around a corner to avoid a pack of hunters.   
“You what.”  
“Come on, there’s a car outside,” she continued, ignoring the other girl’s flat statement.   
“You’re fourteen. Do you even know how to drive?”   
“Of course. You don’t?” 

Several poachers cut them off at the end of the corridor. Tara paled, obviously alarmed at the prospect of going another round with the Beefy Pals ™ . Estelle grabbed her hand and yanked her towards the outside wall.  
“Out the window!” she grinned.   
“What!?! We’re on the 4th storey!!!” Tara cried, but it was cut off by a shriek as the pair leapt hand in hand out the hole in the wall.   
Time slowed as they fell, Estelle imagining their wings unfurling like a butterfly in a nature documentary. In actual fact, they probably had a few seconds of air time before they hit the ground, the only thing stopping them from going splat the beating of their wings before impact.   
Still, they hit the ground hard. Estelle skidded along on her knees, tearing holes in her favourite jeans, while Tara landed roughly on her shoulder.   
“You OK?” Estelle mumbled, concerned at the way the other girl grit her teeth and clutched her ribs.   
“Let’s just get out of here.” 

*

“She’s been gone for two days!” Thalia paced through the common room, running her fingers through her obviously uncombed hair. Fay yawned. She’d been at this for the past few hours, stressing and pacing and yelling and stressing. It was exhausting to watch.   
“Calm down, Thalia,” Fay moaned. “You’re giving me a headache.”  
There was a crack of thunder, and Thalia’s colossal grey wings were out, her dark eyes flashing their angry electric blue.  
“Don’t tell me to calm down!” she growled, her aggressive aura alone prompting everyone but Fay to shy away from her. “I’ve lost two friends in the past month and you want me to stay calm while another one’s missing? And you-” she turned to Natasha, huddled in the common-room corner with her headphones dangling around her neck. “How are you so calm? Your sister’s missing. Shouldn’t you be the most worried out of all of us?”   
“I mean, yeah I’m worried,” she shrugged. “But she isn’t really missing, is she. She’s on a mission. That’s supposed to be part of the job, isn’t it? I don’t really know, ‘cos I’m new here, but I thought this was pretty normal.”   
“Thalia’s just upset because she had a crush on Rose, and now her and her sister are gone and probably dead, and she doesn’t want to be left all alone again,” Fay told the younger girl. The room went silent, all eyes turning to her. “What? It’s true, isn’t it?”   
Astrid fixed her with her stone cold gaze. “Even if it was, that’s not something you just blurt out in front of everybody.”   
“It isn’t? Oh, Ok.” She returned to tapping out rhythms on her knee, unaware of the frustration it was causing everyone else. 

Beside her, Luna stood.   
“I think what my sister was trying to say, in her not very tactful way, is that sitting at home worrying won’t help the situation any more than sitting at home doing nothing at all. We need to have faith that Tara will be alright, and that wherever Estelle is, she’s fine too, otherwise we’ll drive ourselves mad for them to come home to.”   
“No… that wasn’t what I was saying at all.”   
“Maybe you should just put your foot in your mouth for the time being, sis,” Luna advised quietly.   
“I don’t think my foot could fit in my mouth,” Fay laughed. Luna’s small annoyed ‘huff’ sent the papers on the table fluttering in her phantom breeze. 

“I know my sister,” Natasha piped up. “She’s tougher than you guys think.”  
“She flinches every time someone comes up behind her,” Fay pointed out, she thought rather helpfully.   
“There’s a reason for that,” Natasha snapped. Jeez, that girl’s whole demeanour could change in two seconds flat.   
“Ooh, what is it?” Fay bounced. Any sort of gossip had her bubbling with curiosity. Across from her, Natasha’s expression quickly darkened and she moved to stand, removing her headphones from around her neck. 

“Just shut up, all of you!”   
Thalia’s wings were out again, their giant forms taking up more than their share of space.   
“Fay, stop talking. Just stop. Natasha, I understand if you want to punch her. I want to punch her. But we must resist.” She ran her hands through her hair again, looking for all the world like a tired mother losing track of her kids. “I just hope they’re safe, that’s all.”  
“They’ll be fine,” Natasha grouched. She closed her eyes, appearing to calm herself, then sat back down, glaring at Fay on the way. “When we were ten,” she began, and Fay noticed she wasn’t the only one listening intently. “The demon that cursed us came back to the forest. Tara was the one to drive him away.”   
There were mumbles of acknowledgement around the room, and a murmured ‘nice’ from Astrid in the corner.   
“My point is,” Natasha continued, “She knows how to keep herself alive.”

Finally Thalia sighed, taking a seat for the first time all day.   
“I hope you’re right.” 

*

To be perfectly honest, the boy had not expected them to make it out alive. He had lost sight of the red-haired intruder until she and the other girl had leapt hand in hand from the fourth storey. Then he had stupidly thought they wouldn’t survive the fall. Of course, he had forgotten they were faeries, and as such, had wings, so when the glittering membranes unfolded from behind them mid-fall, he had almost toppled from his hiding spot.   
The original intruder’s wings were blue, shaped like a cluster of crystals that flashed and glinted under the flood-lights. The red-head’s wings were simpler in structure, iridescent membranes that shone with fiery colours and patterns depending on the angle of light. They were pretty wings, the boy thought, and they complimented her ghostly skin tone and brightly coloured hair nicely.   
Wait, why was he sitting here pondering wing aesthetics? He was supposed to be watching the compound.   
Urgh. He’d been perched here for days, scarcely taking breaks for eating or sleeping lest he lose his hyperfocus. Now he was finding his attention drifting to whatever caught his eye, whether it be that strange rainbow coloured beetle on the branch near his face, or the pretty crystal necklace the red-haired Guardian wore around her neck. Was it glowing?  
No. Never mind that. He had to watch the compound. Watch. The. Compound. Nope, he was watching a bug crawl across his food stash.   
There were poachers swarming out to apprehend the escapees, and the bug was now buzzing annoyingly trying to get into one of his sandwiches.   
“Shut up, I’m trying to concentrate,” he growled at the bug. It did not, of course, answer him, nor did it stop buzzing annoyingly. It was annoying. 

Suddenly there was screaming, and the boy’s focus snapped back in fast enough to give him whiplash. What had he missed while he’d been distracted? He shoved his eye back to the scope, cursing under his breath, and frantically tried to find the pair of intruders.   
One of them had been grabbed from behind. A hunter had wrapped his arms around her middle, lifting her off her feet with ease. Her shrieks sounded out of pure panic and she was thrashing fiercely in his grip without much success. The other girl was shooting shards of ice at the assailants, trying to hold them back, but the red-haired Guardian was still struggling.   
Without thinking, the boy aimed his rifle and fired. There was a spray of red, and the man holding the girl fell to the ground.   
It was a minute before the boy realised what he had done. The scene on the ground had frozen, the red-head free but staring at the body with wide-eyed shock. The rest of the poachers were staring in his direction, searching for the source of the shot.  
Darn it. He’d given away his position. He had to leave. 

*

There were arms around her, grabbing, constricting, and Tara couldn’t breathe, only scream and kick and fight, but it wouldn’t do any good. It never did any good. She was small, and helpless, and he could lift her up with no problem, swing her over his shoulder if he wanted, bind her in duct-tape and chuck her in the back of a van if he wanted, and she couldn’t stop him. She was six years old again, and no one was coming to save her.   
There was a gunshot.   
The weight of the arms dropped away and the hunter fell, and it was like the world around her melted out of focus. There was blood on her. It was splattered across her neck and the side of her face, and it was pooling around the fallen man’s head, and leaking from the hole right between his eyes. Tara stared at him, deaf to the shouts around her until Estelle seized her hand and dragged away.   
“Get to the car, now!” Estelle shouted, shooting another spray of ice out behind her. Tara let her pile her into the vehicle, only coming to when Estelle shuffled into the driver’s seat beside her.   
“I’m gonna ask again: Do you know how to drive?” Tara said. Estelle didn’t answer, instead pulling what looked like a detonator from her pocket and gripping the steering wheel with her other hand.   
“Better buckle up,” she smirked, and planted her foot on the accelerator. 

The answer was: Yes, Estelle knew how to operate a car. No, she could not drive. Not in any remotely legal capacity, anyway. Tara barely had time to plug her seatbelt in before the car shot forwards, leaving the furious roars of the poachers in the dust. Vaguely she heard the sound of other cars starting, but she was too busy focussing on the fact that Estelle was definitely about to get her killed to worry much about the poachers that were maybe about to get her killed.   
From the passenger’s seat Tara noticed two things: One; that there were a lot of trees between them and the highway they originally came from. And two; Estelle never uses the brakes. 

“Wheeeeeeee!” Estelle cried, swerving through the trees at terrifying speeds with only one hand on the wheel. She held up the detonator in the other, and Tara felt like throwing up. “Wanna make some fireworks?”  
“NO, no I do not want to make some fireworks. PLEASE WATCH THE ROAD!”  
“There is no road!” Estelle cheered, and pressed the button. 

Behind them, the compound spontaneously combusted into a fireball that somehow rained glitter down on the windscreen of their car, the shockwave enough to flatten the line of trees behind them. Beside her, Estelle slowly put on a pair of aviator sunglasses, despite it being night-time, the grin on her face spreading from ear to ear.   
“KEEP YOUR HANDS ON THE STEERING WHEEL!” Tara screamed, not even stopping to wonder where she got the glasses from.   
“Don’t tell me what to do,” she smirked, and jerked the wheel hard to the right, sending Tara pinballing into the car door. 

In the end, Tara had absolutely no idea how she was still alive.   
“Never. Again,” Tara heaved, slamming the car door. The only thing keeping her from emptying the contents of her stomach onto the road (oh yeah, they somehow made it to the road) was the fact that she hadn’t eaten in over a day, so there was nothing to empty out. The front of the car was unrecognisable, the grill having been lost to some tree, and the back of the car was riddled with bullet holes from their pursuers (oh yeah, and the poachers had started shooting at them. Tara’s nerves were pretty frayed by this point.)   
“I thought I did pretty well,” Estelle shrugged, stepping casually from her side of the car.  
“You almost killed us 47 times. I was counting.”  
“Yeah, but only almost. You’re still alive, aren’t you?”  
“Barely.”   
“Barely’s still alive enough. Oh, would you look at that,” Estelle mused, holding up her wrist. It was no longer glowing. “We finished our first Mark mission.” 

*

Kenin. Was. Tired.   
This was, of course, nothing new, because Kenin was always tired, all the time, but now was particularly draining on his will to live. Reports had been coming in for hours about a massacre, the entire population of a small country town found dead. He’d sent three squads of men down to check it out, then followed up with a call for paramedics on the off chance there might be survivors. There weren’t.   
On an ordinary day, that would have been bad enough to deal with. Kenin still had a pile of unresolved cases on his desk so high he’d had to order a whole new filing cabinet. Being head of a Wielder police force wasn’t easy. Of course, then he had to get news that a large explosion had gone up in the distance and now his men were in need of more backup to go check it out.   
Urgh. What the hell. Kenin needed a break from the paperwork anyway.  
“Ria, you’re in charge. I’m going to oversee this myself.”  
“Are you sure, sir?”  
“It’s either that or fall asleep at my desk again, and none of you seem confident enough to wake me up.”  
He reached for his coat, raising an eyebrow as his staff scratched their heads sheepishly.  
“Sir, it’s not that we don’t have the confidence to prod our boss when he falls asleep on the job…” Ria began guiltily, carding her fingers through her messy blonde curls and conspicuously avoiding eye contact, “It’s that we think you need the rest.”   
Oh. Kenin sighed, long and weary, and finished putting on his field uniform.   
“Well, if anyone else wants to finish my paperwork for me, I’d be happy to take a nap. Until then, I have work I need to do.” 

Kenin smiled at the good-natured muttering among his staff as he left, snagging a coffee on the way and rolling his eyes at the hand-painted sign beside the mugs that said ‘Days since Kenin’s last rant,’ with a number circled in red. It amused him that his officers were keeping count.   
The elevator spat him out at the third floor, and he was greeted by an older warlock woman who eyed him with stern concern.  
“Hi Alice. I’m heading to the site of the explosion. Got enough energy left to send me there?” he drawled, two seconds from downing his entire coffee before he even left.  
“Yes, I’ve got the energy,” Alice replied, “But I’d rather use it to send you home to bed.”  
“Ha ha,” Kenin deadpanned, and yep, his coffee was gone already. “Just portal me to the scene already.” 

He arrived on a highway, in the middle of the bush. A plume of smoke was still billowing into the sky in the distance.   
OK. First off, why was there glitter raining down everywhere? Secondly, why hadn’t he arrived directly at the scene? Maybe Kenin really was too tired to deal with this. Maybe he really did need to go home and have a nap.   
Then he saw the two figures hunched over by a half-destroyed car, one of whom was displaying their wrist to the other, the distinct tattoo marking’s glow fading as they spoke.   
Royal Guardians.   
The shorter of the pair saw him arrive and drew a knife from her belt, a short silver thing that she obviously had little idea how to wield. Alertness hung in her posture, despite the trail of blood running down the side of her face and the faint bruises that were already blooming on her cheek. She looked barely twelve, and her clear inexperience sent shivers of cold protective anger coursing through him. The other… Oh no, he recognised the other.  
“Estelle Fir, what in the world are you doing with a Mark tattoo on your wrist?”  
The teen looked up in alarm, whipping off the pair of inexplicable sunglasses she wore as he approached to stare at him in shock.  
“Captain Eyebags? What are you doing here?”   
“My job as a detective. What are you doing here?” He pointedly ignored the nickname.   
“MY job,” she huffed smugly. “I’m a Royal Guardian now!” 

Something cold reared its head in Kenin’s stomach. He still remembered the day he’d first met Estelle Fir, the day he stumbled upon the malnourished nine-year-old lost in the woods, bleeding out from half-inch deep claw-marks down her entire back, her whole town razed to the ground. All he could see was that helpless kid, now handed a gun and pointed in the direction of a war. Estelle Fir, a Mark Bearer. The universe had just signed her death warrant.   
“No, Estelle, this is not your job. Your job is to be a kid. Enjoy life. Grow up,” he said, his voice breaking despite his best efforts. ‘Live till adulthood’ remained unsaid, but the implication hung in the air ominously.   
“Do… do you know this guy, Estelle?” the other girl asked quietly, and oh god she was so young, holding a knife like she was expecting to be attacked (which he guessed was a reasonable expectation, seeing as she looked as though she’d just been beaten from here to Calcutta.) At the other girl’s nod she hesitantly sheathed the weapon, then swayed dangerously on her feet. Kenin surged forwards to catch her before she fell.   
“That’s it, I’m getting you kids home!” He dug in his pocket and pulled out his phone, dialling with one hand while his other supported the barely-conscious teen. “Alice! There’s been a change of plans. I have two injured Royal Guardians here and I need you to portal me to Alenya House.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... I'm sorry.

Insert flashback chapter here when I can actually be bothered writing it.   
Moving on....


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Tired Dad and more of my favourite boi!

Present. 

The portal had barely spat him out before Kenin was speaking, not waiting for those in the room to process his arrival.  
“Where’s your medical bay?” he said, channeling his police captain authority and praying the message got through. The room erupted into chaos for a moment as the five people gathered there expressed their shock at his sudden appearance, even more so when they saw who was with him. Estelle was still on her feet, but he was holding the other girl in a bridal carry, the kid bordering on unconsciousness.   
“Tara! Estelle! What happened?” The guardian he knew to be Thalia bolted to her feet.  
“What were you lot thinking?” Kenin bellowed before he could stop the words coming out. ‘Letting these two kids go out on a mission by themselves?”   
“Wait, mission? Estelle? What are you…?”

The realisation hit him slowly. Thalia seemed utterly bewildered at the concept of Estelle being out on a Mark, and suddenly he was counting the people in the room. There were already five Guardians present, and he had brought with him another two. That added up to seven.  
There were only meant to be six.   
Thalia blinked, obviously realising at the same time he did, then shook her head and moved his way.   
“How badly are they hurt?”   
“Estelle seems to just have some bruising and scratches,” he replied, his professional demeanor snapping back into place as he followed Thalia towards the med bay. The red-haired girl was shockingly light in his arms, a pale slim arm hooked around her neck to support herself. “But this one seems to have taken quite a beating. She collapsed when I got there, possibly a concussion and serious bruising, and she’s covered in blood. I haven’t had time to check for any wounds.”  
“Isnamablud,’ the girl slurred, so quiet Kenin almost missed it. She was shaking in his arms.  
“Pardon?”   
“It’s not my blood,” she whispered again, clear enough for only him to hear. She didn’t count on elfin senses, however, because Thalia stopped short in front of them.   
Oh. Poor kid.   
Kenin poured his rage at what the girl had likely seen into getting her to the hospital room quickly. She squirmed a little in pain when he laid her gently on the bed, then settled, her breaths evening out. Her eyes fluttered close. 

“Estelle, you got anything that needs to be immediately addressed?” Thalia growled at the other girl. She shook her head in reply. “Then come and help me with Tara. Kenin, you too. I could use the extra set of hands.”  
Kenin bristled inwardly at the notion of taking orders from a minor. He was a century-old police chief, and this teenager somehow out-ranked him. But that part of him was outweighed by the part that screamed over the hurt kid in front of him and begged him to do something, anything to help.   
“Estelle, can you take her shoes off,” Thalia directed, “And Kenin, can you take a look at that gash on her head. I’m going to get something to clean her up a bit.”   
Kenin pursed his lips and nodded, carefully tilting the young girl’s head to show the nasty cut at her hairline. She hadn’t been entirely truthful when she’d said it wasn’t her blood. The gash was oozing a red stream that slowly trickled down her cheek. Aside from that, though, there were red splatters all down her face and neck, and her clothes and hands were stained with a mixture of black ash and red smears, none of which seemed to have come from her own wound. There were a few grazes and nicks on her exposed skin, but that was about it.   
Kenin leaned in closer to inspect the cut, making sure there wasn’t any gravel or splinters stuck in it. It was a pesky trait of faerie healing that any foreign objects would completely prevent the wounds from closing, something about evolving to avoid infection, but all it really did was make it a whole lot easier for faeries to bleed out from the least serious of wounds. The blood was already starting to clot, though, which suggested there was nothing to worry about. He moved to set her head back down again when a slight glow caught his eye. She was still wearing a necklace, a strange crystal wrapped with the faerie silver they called Starling. He should probably take that off in case she choked herself with it while asleep.   
He reached for it, but before he could touch it, a hand clamped over his wrist.   
“Don’t touch that.” Thalia’s grip was scarily tight. He hated that the look in the eyes of someone so much younger than him could make him afraid. “It’s from her protectorate.”   
“And that would be what, exactly,” Kenin grouched, rubbing his wrist when she finally let go.   
“The Forest of Life.”  
“You’re kidding, right?” Kenin blinked. “That would mean that’s…”  
“A Crystal Key, yeah.”

Crystal Keys. The only way into the Forest of Life for anyone other than its Guardians, said to be slivers of the Crystal Heart itself. Being in the mere presence of one had Kenin itching with curiosity. The power the forest held, to be able to enter it, to study it…  
“Kenin,” Thalia interrupted, gesturing to a shelf behind her. She was gently scrubbing the grime from Tara’s face, revealing the deathly pale complexion underneath. “Can you grab those bandages off the shelf for me?”   
She spent the next few minutes patching up her friend while Kenin stood fairly uselessly to the side. He was itching to do something, anything, but he felt rather out of place having less medical knowledge as a hundred year-old cop than a sixteen year old kid with a fancy wrist tattoo. Maybe he should just leave now, head back to the crime scene and direct the investigation. He began to move towards the door, then slumped as he realised he still had to get the Guardians’ accounts of what happened. Grumbling to himself, Kenin shoved his hand into his coat, fishing around for his notepad and pen, and stomped back over to Estelle in the other bed. 

“Can you tell me what happened, Estelle?” he asked, forcing his frustration down under his practiced professional tone. Urgh. He really didn’t have enough sleep for this.   
“Yes, Estelle,” Thalia said sternly as she patched up her friend. “I would very much like to know what the hell you were doing out there?” 

By the time Kenin finally located his pen, the young girl appeared sufficiently cowed by the older Guardian’s venomous stare.   
“The Mark sent me,” Estelle shrank.  
“And what happened after you arrived?” Kenin drawled, ignoring Thalia’s fury behind him.   
“I…” she hesitated. “I’ll tell you in a minute, but first there’s something you should know.”  
Kenin raised an eyebrow, his pen poised to write.  
“The poachers. They’re involved with Morgana. She was the one behind this attack.” 

*

The boy had left his escape until far too late, instead, for some reason that had managed to escape him and his self-berating, watching the two girls in their retreat. He hadn’t risked letting off another shot - the poachers were searching for him as it was, and he wasn’t that stupid - but he’d stayed in his perch regardless, watching the chaotic path of the stolen car until it disappeared into the trees.   
And now here he was, stuck trying to find an escape route with Magma Corps agents swarming every inch of the compound. _You idiot._

“Hey, kid! Wait!”  
The boy stiffened at the call. He had been spotted. Shouldering his canvas rifle bag, the boy bolted.   
“WAIT!” the voice called after him, followed by the crunching of leaves underfoot as the man took chase. “I’m not going to hurt you! We’re here to help!”   
Ah. The boy was covered from head to toe in grime and soot, his shirt torn in places where he snagged it on branches reaching his perch. The cop probably thought he was a kid from the country town, someone who survived the poachers’ massacre.   
As comforting as that should be, that they didn’t think he was a criminal, it only set him on edge more. If he was caught, and they found out who he really was… He didn’t exactly want to get involved with the agents of the Magma Corps.   
The trees blurred past him as he ran, the shouts of the police falling on deaf ears. He was focussed on one thing and one thing only right now: Escaping.   
“Somebody stop that kid!” someone shouted. Suddenly the boy had a whole lot more company.   
*

“I’ll handle this from here. You can let him go for now.”   
The hands on the boy’s shoulders vanished as the Magma Corps agents that held him returned to their area search. The police captain sighed, weariness hanging heavy in his posture. Kenin Iudex stared at the boy with clear exasperation, his dark eyes piercing through him like they had X-Ray vision.   
“I thought I told you to keep out of trouble the last time we met,” the detective huffed, a flicker of a smirk tugging at his lips. The boy eyed him warily as he always did, his gaze darting to the faint bulges under the cop’s coat where he knew he concealed his weapons. He’d seen the older man fight. His bulky clothing hid thick taut muscles and the scars of his past battles. His poor posture and tired demeanor was mostly a facade to keep his enemies underestimating him.   
“You got here pretty late,” the boy said instead of replying.   
“I got sidetracked by some Royal Guardians. You wouldn’t have happened to have seen what happened, would you?”  
The boy shrugged, surreptitiously shifting his rifle bag further behind him.   
“Really, because there’s a body down there with a sniper round straight through his forehead. I’m assuming you know something about that.” Kenin’s expression hardened. The boy swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing incriminatingly.   
“Am I in trouble?” the boy murmured after a moment of silence. A weight appeared on his shoulder as the detective’s hand settled there, his grip just a little too tight to be comforting. His hand was irritatingly hot through the fabric, so close to the cool metal of the dog-tags against the skin of his chest.   
“Not this time, kid. The guy was a poacher. No one’s going to miss him.”   
The boy’s eyes narrowed slightly at those words. Coming from the detective it made the boy’s skin crawl. He really wished he would take his hand off his shoulder.   
“Have you given any more thought to my offer?” Kenin said, changing the subject. The boy scowled, jerking away from the man’s touch and distancing himself a step from the detective’s reproachful gaze.   
“I told you before. I don’t want any involvement with your ‘agency’.”   
Consequences be screwed. He was going to tell this bloke exactly what he thought. 

The boy opened his mouth to continue, but his voice caught in his throat. The air around him seemed suddenly heavy, weighed down by the blood-red aura emanating off the man before him as an odd expression crossed his features. Then, as quickly as it appeared, the sensation vanished.   
“I’m sorry to hear that. Just know that my offer won’t last forever,” Kenin cautioned, seemingly genuine concern crinkling his heavy-sunken eyes. “It would be nice to have someone with your skills on my team, but I can’t keep covering for you like this.” 

The boy watched him leave, the tail of his coat billowing out behind him in the faint pre-dawn breeze.   
“Oh, and Mendax?” Kenin called. “I’ll say it again: Do yourself a favour and stay out of trouble.”

The way he said it, it sounded like ‘stay out of my business.’


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I know there's some bits that don't really flow, so if you guys find any bits that seem a bit clunky or rushed etc. I would greatly appreciate it if you could let me know so I can try and refine them. Thanks :)

One hundred and twenty three. That’s how many bodies were found during the cleanup. However, everyone was just as worried about the bodies that weren’t found. Thalia had visited what was left of the poachers’ outpost after the Magma Corps’ initial search had died down, her boots leaving clear prints in the layer of glitter that carpeted the scorched ground. There was no doubt this was where Estelle had ended up, then.   
Poachers. Black market hunters. People who slaughtered magical beings for their bones, or their blood or their wings. It made her sick. Every now and again some depraved individual would show up with a helmet made from an unbreakable faerie skull, or a pair of mounted wings on their Man Cave wall pegged up beside a unicorn horn or something, but never before had Thalia set her eyes on a haul so big. How many people had died for these trophies?   
Thalia bowed her head in acknowledgement of the adolescent skull on the shelf before her. It was for reasons like this that faeries so rarely lived to see adulthood. Surviving as a faerie youth was hard enough being monsters’ favourite prey without people such as these hunting them down. She sighed. It was a known fact that faeries didn’t often live past the age of 18. It was supposedly why Royal Guardians were chosen so young. That didn’t mean Thalia agreed with it. Surely enough elves reach adulthood that the Mark could choose some of them? Not to mention the fact that they would have more experience dealing with said monsters.   
Urgh. She shouldn’t spend so much time dwelling on such things. It wasn’t something she could change. She’d come to terms with the prospect of dying an early death long ago. Anyone associated with guarding a protectorate was already more likely to die than those who sought sanctuary in them, and Thalia was already a Guardian before she ever became a Royal one. 

The news that Morgana was involved with the poachers was troubling. It not only explained how such a racket could gain momentum, but also implied Morgana had been far more active than anyone had detected. 

“So, where are we at with leads?” Thalia huffed, sidling over to the detective. Kenin’s expression was set somewhere between exasperated and irritated, his hand paused in its frantic scribbling. His handwriting was impeccable cursive, Thalia noted, and also completely illegible. Somehow, she thought that was deliberate.   
“Thalia,” Kenin sighed, snapping his notebook shut. He hung his head, obviously rolling words around in his mouth, looking for a way to say something. “I think this is something you shouldn’t get involved in.”   
“Excuse me?” Thalia must have misheard, because she could have sworn the detective in front of her just told her to stay out of a case directly involving the person who murdered her parents and was a major threat to the safety of the magical and non-magical worlds.   
“I said I think you shouldn’t get involved in this.” He placed his hands on her shoulders, looking for all the world like a concerned parent, but there was something sharper beneath his gaze. “My agency has been investigating Morgana and her crimes for decades. Let us handle this.”  
“Wha… why?”  
“I worry about you kids,” Kenin appealed, “The Mark has no right to force you into these battles. Just let me help you!”  
“Kenin…” Thalia gaped, uncomfortable with the hands on her shoulders. The older man sensed it and pulled back, busying himself instead with buttoning up his coat.   
“My agency can provide training. We have resources you can use. Just please, let us keep you kids out of the field for as long as we can. I promise we’ll keep you informed but this is far too dangerous for you.” 

Thunder rolled in the distance and Thalia winced. She hadn’t meant to let her magic loose at this time.  
“Kenin, you know the Mark would never let us avoid something this important.”  
“Oh screw the Mark!” Kenin shouted, his professional facade suddenly shattered. One of eyes twitched, the purple blotches that marked his lack of sleep all the more noticable. A few of his officers glanced over at the commotion, then rolled their eyes and returned to work, their mutters too quiet to make it to Thalia’s ears.   
“It doesn’t care about you or your safety! All it wants is someone who will come when it calls and does what it wants!” He ran his fingers through his uncombed hair. “You do realise why it chooses children, right? Because it picks those it knows won’t say no!”  
“Uh oh. Someone got him ranting again,” mumbled one of the policemen.  
“I’ll grab the timer,” another sighed. “You call the station and tell them to set the day count back to 0.” 

Kenin started pacing, and Thalia had never seen him look so tired. He pressed a hand to his face, rubbing his eyes as if it might wake him up from whatever stupor he was in.   
“I’m sorry, he murmured. “I just don’t want to see you kids get hurt.”  
“Kenin, I get it.”  
“My daughter…” he hesitated, as though the words were painful to get out. “My daughter was a Royal Guardian, you know. She… well she died, if that wasn’t obvious.” he sighed, a world-weary sound of resignation. “I know you’re not going to give this up. She wouldn’t either. I guess you’re both alike in that sense.”  
“Look Kenin,” Thalia sighed. “ I’m sorry about your daughter. You’re right, it’s wrong of the Mark to dump this on us, but even if I wanted to let it go, the Mark would never let us. So the best we can do is go in prepared. I’ll ask again; Do we have any leads?”  
“Ah right, yes,” he blurted, pulling himself together. “Not much yet but I’ll keep you informed.”  
“Thankyou.”  
Walking away, Thalia heard the beep of a timer shutting off, followed by the disappointed drawl of one of the police officers.  
“Darn,” one mumbled. “Only four minutes this time. It’s like he’s barely trying.” 

“Well that was weird,” Thalia grumbled to herself as she stalked towards the trees. 

*

Tara’s head was pounding. It was a fuzzy sort of headache, like her brain was filled with cotton while someone prodded it with a stick. She’d had a panic attack when she’d woken up, her body’s refusal to take in air leaving her exhausted, so she’d probably slept for far longer than she usually would have.   
The blankets were warm. She didn’t want to leave. The last few days were a blur, flashes of movement and images that didn’t quite want to come into focus. She tried to think of where she’d been, but the memories remained stubbornly fuzzy. She really did need to get out of bed.

There was something on her face when she looked in the mirror, aside from the Bandaid that was plastered to her hairline. She squinted at the foggy glass. It looked like blood.   
Probably from my injury, she thought as she reached for a towel. When she looked back in the mirror, however, the splatter was gone.   
“What?” Tara murmured, peering at the clean reflection with wide eyes. She could have sworn she saw…  
Nevermind. The sound of running water calmed her nerves. It was a trick Natasha used to perform for her, sending a flow of water spiraling into the air in fantastic shapes whenever Tara got overly stressed. At best, it managed to soothe her anxieties, at worst it made her laugh, which generally had the same effect. A flicker of colour caught her eye as she turned off the tap, and her gaze dropped to her hands.  
Smears of red and black caked her skin, the dark stains of blood tainted with ash and soot. Tara jerked back from the sink, sure she had just scrubbed her hands clean under the running tap.   
By the time she blinked, her hands were clean again.   
Tara wasn’t dumb. She knew she was seeing things. That didn’t make things any less terrifying. 

Something like this had happened before, Tara knew. She remembered the hospital room after the incident, waking up and seeing only the empty concrete room, feeling only duct-tape on her wrist rather than the bandages that wrapped her wound. Her scar was only as bad as it was because of how many times she’d torn it open, desperately ripping at the ‘duct tape’ until the doctors had to restrain her. Her scar itched at the memory. 

“Thalia!”   
Tara was on the verge of another panic attack by the time she found the older girl, who’s eyes crinkled in obvious concern as Tara came barrelling towards her. Thalia stumbled as Tara wrapped herself around her middle, clinging to her like a lifeline. The only other person she’d hugged like this was her sister, and yet she couldn’t bring herself to pull away. She must have looked childish, but at the minute she didn’t care. She was scared.   
“I think I’m hallucinating,” Tara’s voice was wavering. “I can’t remember what happened but I keep seeing blood. Why do I keep seeing blood? I keep trying to remember but everything is fuzzy and I can’t remember please help me Thalia something is wrong please help!”   
“Hey, hey, Tara, I’m here,” Thalia cooed, stroking the back of her head until her shaking subsided. “I’ll help you, it’s OK.”

“Selective dissociative amnesia,” Thalia announced, returning to the room with Amaryllis in tow. Tara was bundled on the couch in the common room, blankets wrapped around her so she couldn’t keep staring at her hands and the blood that periodically stained them. “House Mum Ammy here did a spell to figure out what was up. To put it simply, you saw stuff you didn’t want to see and so your brain decided to censor it. Only, we think your brain also keeps trying to remember what it censored and that’s causing the hallucinations.”   
“Well that’s just great.” Tara tried for sarcasm, but it came out more half-hearted. Her eyes drifted to a bloody drag-mark across the carpet. “I saw people die, didn’t I?” It surprised her how flat the question sounded.   
“Yeah,” Thalia murmured, plonking herself down on the couch beside her. “Estelle told us what happened. It sounded like… a bit much for a first time.”  
“Hey,” Tara attempted a cheeky smile, but it came out kind of wobbly. “At least I didn’t die?”   
Thalia wrapped her arms around her, pulling her in close for a hug.   
“Keep it that way, Noodle Arms.” 

“Right,” Thalia said, posture straight like a drill sergeant as she paced slowly in front of them. The Guardians were gathered in the training room, what was supposed a ‘military’ lineup spread in more of a dilapidated squiggle. Tara was feeling rather awkward standing alone in the middle of the ‘line’, while Astrid watched perched in the rafters, her wings draped dramatically over the beams. Luna was floating somewhere off to the side, and Tara was pretty sure she had no idea what was going on, while Fay was busy bothering Natasha who was gradually inching away from her. Estelle, for some reason, was lying face down on the floor next to Tara. Tara had suffered a mini heart attack when she’d walked in to find her like that, but the pool of blood surrounding her had only taken a moment to fade from her vision.   
“We’re going to train as a group,” Thalia announced, clapping her hands to get everyone’s attention. Estelle begrudgingly lifted her head off the floor, looking as though she’d been interrupted in the middle of plotting the apocalypse. “As much as I hate to bring this up again, we now have three new recruits. Astrid, I’m not sure where you got to in training your student, but I know that Tara and I have barely scratched the surface of what needs to be addressed.”  
“Have you even tested the kid’s powers yet?” Astrid drawled from her perch, the rustling of her stiff grey feathers hailing the shifting of her wings.   
“I’m getting there, OK? That’s the point I was trying to make!”  
“Then make it faster.”  
“I can, if you let me keep talking. What are you even doing up there anyway, draped across the rafters like a dramatic emo?”   
“It’s for the aesthetic.”  
“Work on your aesthetic some other time, we’re having a meeting down here!”   
“Um, could we get back to talking about group training please?” Luna’s voice was soft, but it cut through the siblings’ bickering, leaving the room instantly silent. The faint whisper of a breeze tickled the back of Tara’s neck.   
“Right, as I was saying,” Thalia coughed. “Each experienced Guardian will be leading a workshop that everyone else will participate in, in addition to the continuation of our one-on one workouts. Newbies, it’s time we set you up with some proper gear.” 

This alone was enough to get Estelle bounding to her feet, startling Tara enough that she squealed, and the meeting failed to progress for the next five minutes as both her and Estelle tried to stifle their laughter at the strangled sound.   
“Do you want your gear or not?” Thalia deadpanned. 

Estelle was practically buzzing the entire way to the gear room, her chaotic energy lifting Tara’s spirits. It had been a while since being startled had resulted in anything other than mild panic, but for some reason today had brought only laughter, and it felt… good. Was this what friendship was? Come to think of it, Tara hadn’t been locking her room as often, even since coming back from her mission, and the usual ache of hypervigilance in her shoulders wasn’t as noticable. Perhaps being away from that house and those people was doing her some good, even if she had almost been killed several times in the past month and a half. Sure, some things weren’t great, like she was still hallucinating dead things and could possibly still die her very next mission, but she no longer had to sneak out of the house to see her sister, and the people she lived with didn’t use her as a punching bag every other day. (Well, unless you count training with Thalia, which Tara didn’t.) 

“Pick a colour, Tara,” Thalia said, jolting her from her thoughts.  
“Uh… green?”   
“Great. Put these on.” Thalia chucked a pair of earrings her way, which Tara of course failed to catch. While she was scrambling on the floor to find them, Thalia explained what they were. “They’re spelled to help manage sensory input,” she went on. “Any sounds over a certain volume will be dimmed to the decibel threshold. That way, unlike with earplugs, you’ll still be able to hear quiet sounds, the loud ones just won’t be as loud.”  
“Nice,” Tara thanked her, finally scooping up the tiny gem. She’d been meaning to ask the older girl for something to help with her sensory overload. Once again, it seemed she’d read her mind.   
“Catch,” Thalia called again, sending another object her way. This time it hit Tara square in the face. “Ok, Noodle Arms? We really need to work on your hand/eye coordination.”   
The object in question was an official-looking badge in a fold over wallet, and a little ID card tucked inside. The badge looked like a stylised version of the Mark with font across the middle that read ‘Gifted Individuals Initiative’.   
“Titania had her contacts in the human government whip that up, along with your official classified file. In order to protect people from supernatural threats, we sometimes need to be able to work among the human population. I think it’s pretty obvious they’re not going to respond to us showing a sparkly tattoo on our wrist, let alone a 13-year old kid with a sparkly tattoo, so we have those badges to wave around that say we can do whatever.”  
“Uh… is that really ethical, using fake badges to ‘do whatever’?”   
“First of all, I never said they were fake,” Thalia corrected. “The Royal Guardians is an organisation acknowledged outside of the world of Wielders as well. Technically, we are considered by most governments as members of the secret services. The ‘Gifted Individuals Initiative’ division to be exact.” Thalia busied herself rifling through the shelves for Natasha and Estelle’s own badges while she explained. “Humans usually pick up on magical occurrences in their area, but they often mistake it for something else. Hence why the government lets us flash that badge to make sure humans don’t accidentally stumble onto something that wants to eat them. Right, come pick out a utility belt, then I’m taking you guys shopping.”  
“Shopping?” Natasha raised an eyebrow.  
Thalia just smiled.   
“Ever been to the Melbourne Magic District?”


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My boi finally meets the Guardians.

“Yo Taryn!” Thalia leaned on the counter of the Cosy Corner Cafe, fiddling with one of the sugar packets as the barista made his way over.   
“Hey Thalia! How’ve you been?” He flashed a brilliant smile, a pair of pearly white fangs glinting in the cafe lighting. “I see you’ve brought some new blood.” He was silent for a second before he blinked, and promptly doubled over laughing at his own accidental pun. “Get it, because I’m a vampire?” he giggled. Thalia quietly chuckled along with him.   
“This is Tara, Natasha, and you’ve met Estelle before. I believe you got her unbanned from the glitter store.”   
“Yep. That’d be Estelle,” Taryn grinned.   
Tara was hunched in on herself as usual, fingering the crystal around her neck to keep herself calm. Meanwhile, Estelle was building a tower out of sugar packets while Natasha cheered her on. A few of the cafe’s other patrons watched from their booths with clear amusement.   
“They look a bit young to be newbies,” pondered Taryn, joining Thalia in leaning on the counter and resting his chin on his bone-white hand. “Estelles only what, fourteen?”   
“Gosh, I know,” Thalia sighed. “The Mark’s started picking them young. I brought them here to order some gear.”   
“So I’m assuming you want the district warnings?” 

Thalia nodded. The district warning was a summary of the conditions in the Melbourne Magic District, a hotspot for Wielders and Witchbreed. The barista made a point of knowing everything that went on in the area, so visitors to the district would visit him for the warnings. 

“The East side’s all clear,” Taryn recited, leaning over the counter so the other girls knew he was addressing them as well. “A lot of broken glass over on Sparrow Street though, there was a spell mishap last night and someone’s window blew out. Make sure you wear shoes. Oh, and you might want to avoid the Bloody Mary Bar, we’ve got a large group of visiting vamps from outside the district for the day. You know how they can get when they’re drunk. Now. Coffee orders.”   
Another thing Taryn was incredibly skilled at was guessing people’s preferred drinks. 

The Melbourne Magic District, or MMD as the locals called it, was a collection of alleyways and cobbled streets hidden away among the concrete jungle of the city, where walls were painted with sigils and scribbles and werewolves could join full moon therapy sessions while vampires drank coconut water shots instead of blood over in the local bar. Not only was it one of the larger Wielder communities in Australia, it also was home to a range of specialised shops and craftsmen. Which was why the Guardians often visited when in need of custom gear. 

Tara sucked happily at the straw of her caramel milkshake, her eyes darting around the shop in obvious curiosity. The four of them were seated in the little corner booth, enjoying their drinks before heading out to the shops, and Thalia was enjoying spending a bit of quiet time with the new recruits.   
“I’ve never met a vampire before,” Natasha mused, prodding at her thick shake with a spoon. She’d been staring at everything with the eagerness of someone who had never seen the world, and wanted to commit every detail of it to memory. “He’s cute. Does he like girls?”   
Thalia chuckled and ruffled the young girl’s bright red hair.  
“He prefers them a bit older, kiddo,” she said, hiding her grin in the lapel of her leather jacket.   
“How can he work here during the day? I read vampires could only go out at night?” Tara asked shyly, slurping on her milkshake in a frankly adorable fashion. Estelle added another sugar packet to her gravity-defying tower, and Thalia had no idea how it was still standing.  
“Normally he couldn’t, but the district’s got enchantments to cater to a variety of species, so there’s a spell canopy over the streets that protects the vamps from the sun. Any other questions, oh curious one?” Thalia meant it as a joke, as until now the kid hadn’t been overly vocal about her thoughts, thinking it was an intrusion. But something must have got through to her that Thalia legitimately didn’t mind, because Tara’s eyes lit up and she promptly took her up on the offer. 

They sat in silence for a while after Tara had finished satisfying her hidden inquisitiveness, finishing their drinks and listening to the bustle of cafe conversation around them. At the counter, Taryn was serving another customer, and Thalia let her focus wander to the exchange.  
“Heyo Mendax,” Taryn’s warm smile was evident in his naturally high voice. “Let me guess, long black with three extra shots of espresso.”  
“Make it four,” came the flat voice of the customer. Thalia could imagine him in his mid-teens, slumped on the counter with eyes half-closed. Poor kid.  
“Looking to stay awake?”   
“Nope. Believe it or not, caffeine makes me sleepy. After here I’m gonna down a RedBull and pass out for the next week.”  
“That can’t be healthy.”  
“I never said it was.” 

“Hey kid!” Thalia blinked, realising she’d called out to the boy. “You know there’s this great shop down on Hawk Road that sells the best sleeping potions. It’ll knock you right out, no need to risk the heart attack.”   
“Yeah, what she said, buddy,” Taryn laughed. “Best not risk your heart exploding from all that caffeine. Go with the Guardians, I’m sure they won’t mind the company, will you?”  
“You guys wouldn’t mind?” His eyes widened a little as they glanced over her group, lingering for a second on Tara and Estelle with some sort of distant recognition. Huh. She wondered what that was about.   
“Not at all,” Thalia snorted, draining the last of her coffee. “We’re headed over that way anyway.” 

Mendax was a tall guy, and looked around fourteen or fifteen, though it was kind of hard to tell, and he stood a good head above Thalia’s own height. Dark brown hair, kinda messy at the top but short on the sides, with olive skin and pretty chiselled features for a teen. He was kinda cute. Huh, and his eyes were different colours, which Thalia found interesting. One was dark brown, the other green. Cool.   
“So, you been round here much?” she asked, casually falling in step next to him as they strolled along the cobbled road. He shrugged, a little awkwardly, his fingers tapping out syncopated rhythms on his leg.   
“I’ve visited the district a bit, but not enough that I’ve been to every shop,” he muttered.  
“Well this is their first time here,” Thalia said, gesturing to the two excited red-heads in front of them. “We’re here to order some custom gear, so I hope you don’t mind a few detours on the way to the potion shop.”   
“Oh, no, not at all,” he blurted quickly. If Thalia had guessed, she would have said he was glad for the company. As they walked he shoved his hand into one of his many cargo pants pockets and pulled out a fidget spinner. The whirring of the toy accompanied them through the streets. 

“Stop here!” Thalia called as the group reached the shop she was looking for. All three girls stopped still in the middle of the road, which in hindsight probably wasn’t the smartest idea, because Mendax wasn’t paying any attention and walked straight into Tara.   
Almost in slow motion the pair fell, Tara’s startled squeak stifled by the inelegant “WAH!” the boy let loose as he received a facefull of bright auburn hair. And oh gosh if ever there were a pair of more awkward beings, Thalia had never seen them. She winced at the heavy thud they landed with, and the uncomfortable scramble to untangle their limbs as both choked out a string of incoherent apologies, their faces a matching shade of bright red.   
“OhmygoshI’msosorryIshouldhavebeenwatchingI’msosorry!!!!” Mendax rushed, half choking on a lock of Tara’s hair. Tara’s reply was even more unintelligible, a string of mumbled words and squeaks as the pair struggled to free themselves from the pile. Off to the side, Natasha was doubled over laughing at her sister’s predicament. Eventually they sorted themselves out, with, of course, zero help from the other three people in the group, who, Thalia among them, were too busy enjoying the spectacle to lend a hand.   
“Here, let me help you up,” Mendax offered, extending his hand to Thalia’s flustered student. Thalia definitely noticed the way his eyes widened slightly as Tara took it, and how his gaze lingered a little on her bright blue eyes and adorable freckled blush, as if he were trying to remember her face from somewhere.   
“Right, you two klutzes. If you’re done getting in a tangle, we’ve got some shopping to do,” Thalia snorted. 

The shop they’d stopped by looked innocuous from the outside, like the majority of the shops, considering the district was still open to any humans who happened to wander in from the city. Inside, too, would appear relatively normal, at least in the main room. Out the back however, an area that was only accessible to the ‘special’ customers, was where the ‘magic’ happened, both metaphorically and literally. The shop in question provided specialised protective clothing.   
“I want something with lots of pockets. Ooh, and a fluffy hood!” Estelle buzzed, staring at the shelves full of fabric samples with a grin that promised uncontrollable chaos. That grin terrified Thalia. She was all too familiar with it.   
“Go pick out a fabric colour first,” she sighed, hoping the little psycho would venture far away from her in search of samples before she brought on a headache. Seriously, Mark. What were you thinking? 

*

Tara’s cheeks still burned from the accident outside the shop. She hadn’t meant to cause a pile up! Why hadn’t she looked behind her before stopping?  
Her hair, which she’d left mostly loose that afternoon was still hanging in her face, and she blew it out of the way, catching the boy staring at her strangely from the corner of her eye. Gosh, she must really look a mess.   
“I’m really sorry,” she said again, fully prepared to begin another string of apologies, but he waved his hands in front of his face frantically.  
“You don’t have to apologise! It was my fault!” he interrupted. His voice broke a few times as he said it, so it came out as more of a strange, embarrassed sounding warble. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.”  
“Yeah, me neither,” Tara conceded, surprised that she was able to chuckle. “I was too busy taking everything in. Anyway…” she turned away. “I’d better go pick out some fabric.”   
“Uh, yeah… I’ll just… wait here, I guess?”

Green was Tara’s favourite colour, so of course she made a bee-line for the shelf of green. The only problem was, that shelf was right on the top, and Tara was short.   
“Ah mushrooms,” Tara grumbled, recognising the faint sound of a stifled snort from where Mendax sat at the front of the shop. “Curse these tiny legs.”   
She unfurled her wings, prepared to just flat out fly up to the top shelf, but was saved by the sleep-deprived boy stalking over to help her out. His tall, lanky frame dwarfed her own, and he could easily reach the shelf.   
“Thanks,” Tara said dryly. His mouth tugged up at the corner into a crooked smile.   
“Nice colour,” he said, handing her the roll.   
“Uh… thanks?”   
“So you’re really a Royal Guardian?” he asked, his mismatched eyes seeming a little more awake with curiosity. “I heard there were seven now.”   
“Oh, um, yeah,” Tara stumbled, heading towards the desk to work out the details for her gear. Mendax trailed behind her a little uncertainly, making conversation about various elements of life as a Guardian.   
“Ever considered becoming an Honorary?” Thalia smirked, appearing from behind a shelf. Both Tara and Mendax startled, and Tara dropped her roll of fabric, although in her case it was because of the line of blood dribbling down Thalia’s face from the hole between her eyes. Tara rubbed her own eyes, purposefully calming her breathing before anyone could see just how much she’d been rattled.   
“If you’re so interested in the Royal Guardians,” Thalia continued, her face clear of blood again.   
“Oh, no, I, um…” Mendax rubbed the back of his head, his other hand tapping out panicked patterns on his pant leg again. “No. No, I don’t think that sort of thing is for me. I was just curious.”   
“Fair enough,” Thalia shrugged and disappeared back into the shelves to make sure Estelle hadn’t blown anything up. 

In the end Tara ordered a sleeveless vest with panels made from a magically enhanced scratch-proof fabric, making it resistant to monster claws, knife swipes and all sorts of undesirably sharp objects. She would have preferred to have protection for her arms as well, but it was a common problem of faeries that they were terrible at regulating their body temperatures, and with Tara’s fire-based power, she needed her arms uncovered so she wouldn’t overheat. Estelle had the opposite problem: Her ice-based abilities lowered her body temperature if overused, so she needed something to keep her warm. She too got her wish of a fluff-lined coat, made of a similar scratch-proof fabric, while Natasha fell in love with a magically strengthened blue leather jacket.   
They stopped at a few other shops on their way, but eventually they made it to Hawk Street and the potion shop Thalia had first mentioned.   
“Have a good nap, buddy,” Thalia waved with a smirk. Mendax smiled and held up the bottle of sleeping potion he’d bought, his grin promising an unhealthy amount of time passed out on a couch.   
“Will do,” he smirked with a mock salute. “Sorry about crashing into you, again.”   
“S’okay!” Tara shrugged, then froze as a warning arched through her senses. 

Vaguely, she heard the others speaking, asking her why she froze, if she was alright, but she barely registered, every muscle in her body tensed to the point that it was painful. It was the warning that told her a fist was headed for her head seconds before they swung, that her dad was in a particularly bad mood that night and she shouldn’t do anything to get on his nerves, that a black van was following her home from the library and that she should really, really run.   
“Something’s going to happen,” Tara whispered. And then something did.


	16. Chapter 16

Mendax shoved his sleeping potion into his back pocket and silently palmed one of his knives. Fidget spinners weren’t the only things he had in his many pockets.   
From the periphery of his vision, a large group approached.  
“Well, well, well,” slurred one guy. “Look who it is. I heard on the grey vine… the grap vine… no, it’s the grape vine! Grape vine. That there was a price on some of your heads. And you lot sure smell delicious.”  
Vampires. Great. And they were drunk. They must have come from the Bloody Mary Bar.   
“You two really pulled a number on them poachers,” drawled another. Tara and Estelle’s eyes widened. “I heard they’re paying real well for your heads.”   
Neither of them had time to draw their concealed weapons before the vampires were upon them, their supernatural speed giving them an edge even when inebriated. Cursing, Mendax raised his knife and threw himself into the fight. 

*

Tara managed to roll out of the way of the charging vamp, but Estelle was not so lucky, receiving the full force of the supernatural charge straight to the middle. Tara winced as Estelle went flying, before pivoting herself in the air to create a slide for her to land on with her ice. So these guys were bounty hunters, of sorts. If she had to guess, they would be the reason Taryn warned them to stay away from the BM Bar area.   
“You are unlawfully attacking members of the Royal Guardians,” Thalia recited, freeing her rapier sword from its sheath. “If you continue to attack, we will be forced to subdue you or banish you to the dimension Oblivion.”  
“Oh, save your spiel, honey,” hissed one of the vampires, cutting off her warning with a swipe of claws.

Tara had never fought vampires before, but she’d heard they were unnaturally fast. Even inebriated, these bounty hunters were quick on their feet, and Tara was pretty sure their drunkenness was the only thing keeping them from landing a hit.   
Heat flared in her fingers and the usual sparks flickered to life. Clenching her fist, Tara willed the heat into her palms, then splayed her palm, letting the fire engulf her hand. Flames trailing through the air, Tara used her forearm to fend off and deflect the uncoordinated swipes like Thalia had shown her, the added kick of her magic helping keep them at bay.   
A glint of metal and out of nowhere appeared a knife, embedding itself dead centre in a vampire’s forehead. Tara barely had time to shriek before the bounty hunter disintegrated into a pile of ash.   
“You killed him!” Tara squeaked to no one in particular. The throwing knife lay on the pile of ash, the strange iridescent metal glinting a rainbow of colours under the light.   
“Not killed, banished,” Mendax corrected, swooping in to scoop up the fallen blade. “If he were dead, he’d be a corpse on the floor, not a pile of ash.”   
“Are you sure you don’t want to be an Honorary?” Thalia remarked, eyeing the boy’s handiwork. He shook his head and returned to the fray, his mismatched eyes meeting Tara’s for a split second. Tara couldn't quite place the almost haunted look in them. 

Flames flickered around Tara, casting their eerie red, gold and blue light on the street. Some of the vampires seemed wary to approach her, while others were not nearly as careful, diving at her openly. Occasionally the flames would flicker wildly without Tara’s direction, and the more intelligent of the drunks seemed to be realising she had very little control over the power she was wielding.   
A clawed hand snuck past her defences, raking along her side and she stumbled, her fire flickering out for a second as she pressed her hand to her hip, only to find the fabric of her new vest untorn. Finally taking the chance to arm herself, Tara unsheathed her knife from its position hidden under her vest, reigniting her powers in the other hand. 

The fight was a cacophony of sound, Thalia’s speciality causing thunder to regularly split the air as dark clouds gathered ominously above them, while Natasha’s gung-ho battle screams rang out against Estelle’s constant screeching. Natasha slashed at enemies with tendrils of water in a move that Tara was pretty sure she learnt from a popular kids’ cartoon, while Estelle bounded around like a gremlin kicking at everything in sight. Tara could barely see Mendax, but every once in a while an assailant would sink into the ground or meet an invisible barrier of air, which she could only assume was the capable civillian’s specialty at work. 

A blow from the side, and Tara was startled enough to let her hold on her magic slip. The flames sputtered out pitifully, leaving her with only her knife and the ability to dodge the insanely fast attacks. Quietly cursing (in her typical non-cursing way,) Tara reached for the energy buzzing inside her, willing it to return to her control, but it wouldn’t listen. In her split-second lapse of concentration, a bounty hunter had managed to position themself behind her.  
Hands closed around her from behind, pinning her arms to her side, and Tara lost all ability to think. The background faded from her senses, leaving Tara alone, struggling helplessly in the grip of the kidnapper, a six-year-old child alone on the street as a black van pulled up beside them. 

Her father was a wealthy businessman. He had money. He had children. It didn’t matter that this one wasn’t really his, adopted as a publicity stunt when his popularity ratings were particularly low. He was sure to pay up.   
Her kidnapper had been strong, too strong for a tiny young girl to fight against, though she had tried. Sometimes she could still feel his arms around her, lifting her off her feet with ease. Her scar still itched from where the knife had torn into her flesh, her wrist being the only thing between the blade and her throat when the ransom deal had ultimately gone south. 

Only this time she couldn’t raise her hand. It was pinned, held by a second bounty hunter as the first looped his arm around her shoulders, tilting her chin to expose the full right side of her throat. She squirmed, vaguely hearing the shouts of the other Guardians, but barely registering what was said. There were arms around her, and her magic was buzzing in her ears.  
Then pain. White exploded in her vision as teeth punctured her neck and something warm and wet began to trail down her skin. Her magic was burning inside of her, aching to get out, and it hurt, and there were arms around her and it hurt and she needed to let it out!  
Tara screamed, and her magic replied. 

*

Thalia wasn’t quite sure what happened, but she was on the ground, the air thick with ash and glowing embers, drifting gently in the faint breeze.   
“What the…”  
Someone swore loudly, and Thalia looked over to see Mendax staring slack-jawed at the person kneeled on the road, her opalescent wings wrapped around herself almost protectively as wisps of gold and blue magic lingered in the air around her. Glowing teal markings ran up her bare arms and were slowly fading, but not before Tara could see them, her eyes widening even as her body shook as she looked around at the damage she’d caused. Across the ground, glowing flowers pushed their way up through the cracks in a circle radius around the fallen faerie.   
There were a few surviving vampires, three or so, who were frozen some distance away, staring at the girl on the road, but rather than attacking they seemed to decide they certainly did not want to tangle with that and promptly fled the scene. The memory of what happened began to protrude through the fuzz that was blocking Thalia’s thoughts.   
A wave of fiery magic had torn from her student, ripping through their assailants and sending them promptly to Oblivion, their drifting ashes the only thing left to suggest they had ever been there. The buildings were all untouched and her allies unharmed, but Thalia and the others had still been thrown a short distance from the burst. From the completely shocked expression on her student’s face, Thalia was pretty sure it wasn’t something the girl had meant to do.   
The glowing patterns faded completely, and Tara keeled over unconscious on the pavement, leaving only the spadorical spread of flowers casting their flickering light across the street.

“Tara!” Thalia yelled and ran to her side, gently cradling her head as she felt the girl’s skin grow feverishly hot. Her hand came away wet with blood and Thalia felt her own heart-rate spike. Almost like someone had flipped a switch, the girl’s body temperature plummeted, her energy obviously expended, and the only clue Thalia had that she wasn't holding a stone-cold corpse was the thumping of Tara’s heartbeat in her neck.   
“You need to get her warm!” Natasha ran towards them, shrugging off her jacket as she went and draping over her fallen sister. “What was that glow?”   
Thalia huddled her bleeding student closer to her, letting her unconscious form absorb some of her warmth.   
“Aura markings,” she replied, somewhat absently. “Powerful Wielders use them to store energy. Most don’t have them appear until adulthood.” And yet here was the youngest ever Guardian sporting the glowing sigils after wiping out a large group of enemies. It was every Wielder’s goal to eventually be able to summon the markings, as they made it a whole lot easier to monitor their energy output. Amaryllis was in the process of helping Thalia summon hers, but so far she’d had no luck. Frankly, Thalia was amazed, but worry still gnawed at her insides. “She’s bleeding,” Thalia announced to the others, pointedly ignoring the way her voice shook with concern. “We need to get her back to Alenya.”   
“I think,” Mendax hummed, sheathing his knives back wherever on his skinny frame he hid them. “That this is my cue to leave. Thanks for the sleeping potion. I’m gonna go pass out now, away from all this drama.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I.... really need to find a better way to introduce the concept of Aura markings. This seems kinda sudden, doesn't it?


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me rubbing my evil author hands together: I should torture Tara some more.  
> Me, feeling guilty later: I should get her some therapy, shouldn't I.

The next few weeks passed sluggishly for Tara after she woke up once again in the Alenya Infirmary. The bite marks on her neck healed quickly with the help of elfin biology and Amaryllis’ herbal creams, but they still left a noticeable scar. Tara quickly took to wearing clothes with high necklines to cover the uneven skin. 

Training with the other Guardians was noticeably different from training with just Thalia. Not only did the array of different fighting styles force her to think on her feet, each Mark Bearer had their own areas of expertise which they ran workshops in. The stack of papers back in her room analysing their skills was growing, to the point that Thalia encouraged her to share them at one of their training sessions. 

“I, uh, I…” Tara stuttered, shuffling her papers nervously in her hand. The Guardians were spread around the training room, watching her intently, and Tara couldn’t help but feel like a mouse being watched by a group of hawks. Astrid wasn’t helping matters, once again assuming her perch in the rafters, the occasional mottled feather drifting to the ground from her dramatically spread wings, which were in the process of molting. Tara’s mouth felt very dry, and she swallowed hard to ease her nerves. Being homeschooled online since she was old enough to work a computer, Tara hadn’t exactly gained many oral speaking skills (unless you count gushing to the local librarian about Greek Mythology or whatever she was interested in at the time).   
“Go on, you can do it kid,” Thalia encouraged from her position leaning against a glitter-crusted pommel horse. Estelle had dragged in a fluro yellow bean bag from somewhere or rather and was draped over it upside down, staring at Tara disconcertingly. Sometimes the light would hit her eyes strangely and cause them to flash alarmingly, which didn’t help Tara’s unease, however her upside down attempt at a thumbs up prompted a small giggle from Tara’s throat, along with Estelle’s own brand of encouragement:  
“Imagine we are all raccoons and you are educating us as to how we could boost our world domination efforts through society’s need for buckets.”   
Now Tara was really giggling, her earlier nervousness quelled by the nonsensical antics of her nutty friend. Friends, yes that was who these people were. Friends. She could do this. Taking a deep breath, she decided to start with the person she knew best, and make her way from there.   
“Natasha, your fighting style relies heavily on smooth, flowing movements in your manipulation of water. It might be worth looking into Tai Chi or another similar martial art to augment this,” Tara began, and let the words pour out of her. Astrid fought with sharp, jerky movements that landed with great force but made it easy to see where she’d hit, while Luna relied heavily on the movement of her arms and struggled to coordinate her leg movements at the same time. Fay was far too erratic, often putting her comrades in danger of being caught up in her attacks, and the animals she commanded often couldn’t tell the difference between ally and enemy. Estelle had no set style, not one Tara could see, but her chaotic actions helped distract assailants, making it surprisingly effective. Thalia, Tara knew pretty well, as she trained with her so often. Her fighting style was simple, but effective, a range of throws, strikes and blocks combining to make her a difficult opponent, as Tara knew all too well. Every Guardian had a pattern, with strengths and weaknesses Tara could point out, allowing her to make suggestions on how to improve, even if she herself was still learning the moves herself. Finding patterns was something she was good at. If she could use it to help, she would. 

“Wow,” Astrid said when she’d finished, eyebrows raised. She’d flown down from the rafters once Tara had started so she could hear better, and sat fixing her knuckle wraps on a balancing beam near Thalia’s pommel horse/makeshift chair. “That was… pretty good.”   
High praise coming from the usually closed-off teen, Tara reminded herself. Scowling, the girl plucked a stray feather from her fringe, dyed white today against her walnut brown undercut, her glasses fogging from her exasperated huff. Rolling her eyes, she pulled them off, using her sleeve to polish them clear and revealing the empty bleeding sockets behind them. Tara stifled a scream, dropping her stack of notes and Astrid frowned, a trail of blood making its way down her cheek, past oozing burns and blackened skin.   
“Tara, are you OK?” she asked, replacing her glasses, and Tara could see her hard brown eyes again.   
“I’m fine,” she said quickly, gathering up her scattered pages. “I… I was just seeing things again.”   
Before the others could voice their concerns, she had fled the room, huddling her papers close to her chest and running blind through the hallway, her eyes squeezed shut to block out the splatters of blood only she could see. 

This wasn’t normal, Tara thought. Seeing things… she thought it would fade after a while. That dreaded mission had been over a month ago, and she’d been on several other tasks since, but still the ghostly stains of blood on walls and on people clouded her vision. The others all knew about it, of course, but she preferred not to go running to them every time her mind played a trick on her. They had their own problems to deal with.   
Maybe… maybe she should talk to someone? It wasn’t just that mission which was eating at her, she knew. So maybe talking to someone would help? Not the Guardians… as much as she was beginning to trust and like them, she still didn’t feel comfortable spilling her deepest thoughts and memories to them just yet. Even her sister… this wasn’t the sort of stuff she wanted to burden her with. Then who? 

Dinner the next few nights was quiet. Thalia and Astrid were out on an errand from Titania, and the group of Honoraries that had been staying for the past couple of days had packed up and left, so it was just the few Guardians eating informally at the common-room kitchen bench or on the couches, the sound of Disney movies playing softly in the background.   
Tara finished her dish and returned it to the sink, absently fixing herself a mug of hot chocolate to warm her hands. Thinking for what felt like the hundredth time that week, Tara finally scrunched up the courage to ask.  
“Hey Nat,” she called quietly, sipping at her drink. “Can I borrow your laptop?”  
“Yeah, sure, it’s in my room,” her sister smiled, gesturing with her head towards the corridor. 

The first thing Natasha had done with her substantial Royal Guardians paycheck was buy herself a computer. Growing up in the forest, she hadn’t exactly had much opportunity to play around with technology, but now that she was out and about in the modern world, Tara could see she wanted to try everything available. Having recently discovered video editing software, Natasha had quickly become an avid short-film maker, and several videos of Tara falling out of trees accented with a pretty colour filter had ended up on the site known as Youtube, much to the other Guardians’ amusement.   
The laptop was slim, with a touch screen, and was plastered with a collage of pretty stickers so thick Tara could barely see the light-up logo on the back of the screen. The stickers were from a random booklet Natasha had picked up at a shop in the MMD, but to anyone familiar with the source material of the illustrations, Tara’s sister would come across as a massive anime geek. As it was, Tara herself recognised at least a few of the characters. She’d spent a little of her first paycheck on books and art supplies, then put the rest away for a rainy day.   
The computer whirred to life and Tara quickly tapped in the password (waterfairy123, because Natasha was never really all that creative,). The screensaver was a poster of a fish with googly-eyes glued on it.   
Staring at the empty search bar, Tara almost lost her nerve. She stared at it for much longer than she meant to, watching the little cursor blink, inviting her to spill her thoughts. She almost closed the computer, but the faint splatter of blood out of the corner of her eye changed her mind. She needed to do this. 

If Natasha, by some chance, happened to check her search history the next day, she’d find a series of web searches including ‘is it normal to hallucinate stuff?’, ‘do I need therapy?’ and ‘how to get therapy’. Tara had a lot to think about. 

*

The bruises on Astrid’s knuckles stood out when her wraps were off, the blotchy purple and red marks displaying the most tender spots. There was a fleck of yellow on her glasses and she rolled her eyes, reaching for a cloth. Her canvas stretched out on the easel in front of her, the soft light through the windows of her small loft studio making mottled patterns on the fabric. Unfinished paintings were stacked around the room, some drying, some abandoned after a poorly timed mission call. Her sink was still filled with brushes (clean, because she wasn’t a monster who let her brushes get ruined), but she kept forgetting to put them away, so they were beginning to pile up.   
Running ‘errands’ for the faerie Queen was not as menial as it sounded, and Astrid was still stiff from a run-in with some Laistrygonian cannibals. She needed some time to herself, and painting in her secret room was about as quiet as she was going to get in this hell-house. Below her an explosion of some sort shook the room’s floor, probably caused by Estelle and involving horrendous amounts of glitter, and Astrid was thankful she wasn’t working on delicate lines at the time.   
Painting was something for herself, and only herself, which was why she’d set herself up in the loft, accessible only through a hidden trap-door, where no one could find her and she could have some peace and quiet. And if no one was around to see her accidentally take a sip of paintbrush water instead of her coffee and choke, well, that was an added bonus.   
Finishing up with her painting for the night, the light outside her windows starting to dip closer to the horizon, Astrid roughly scrubbed away any wet paint on her hands with a towel and pointedly set her freshly cleaned brush back in its stand, instead of dumping it in the sink. There was still some dried paint up her arms, and charcoal smudges on her finger that refused to shift, but she couldn’t be bothered cleaning herself up any more. On her easel sat a portrait of a kitten asleep in its cot, still needing just the last few finishing touches. Astrid had decided to never let the others see it, finished or otherwise. She could just hear Fay laughing about how the group’s ‘stone-cold, emo warrior’ was painting kittens, even if it was a widely known fact she was a cat person.   
In the dimmed lights of the common room, Astrid recognised the now familiar silhouette of one of their newest members curled up in her now regular spot on one of the couches. Tara raised her head in greeting before returning to whatever had held her attention before.   
Normally Astrid wasn’t the most social of Guardians, but she had to admit the new Guardian hadn’t yet made her want to punch something. The kid’s sister had. All the time. The girl tried to fight everything in sight. It was exhausting. But this one, little Tara… she’d heard Thalia ranting about something to do with holding a sword backwards, but other than that the kid seemed pretty chill.   
Generally, that’d be enough for Astrid. The kid didn’t bother her, they’d give each other a respectful nod when passing, y’know, on good terms. But even Astrid had noticed her seeming down for a while. It was pretty hard to ignore. 

“Hey,” Astrid found herself leaning over the back of the couch. Tara gave her a small smile, but Astrid could tell it was just to put her at ease. In her lap was an open sketchbook, the kid’s mechanical pencil paused over a detailed sketch of an elfin figure. It was pretty good, Astrid had to admit. She hadn’t pegged the girl for an artsy one.  
“Been painting?” Tara nodded towards the tiny splatters of paint that flecked her arms. A hot spike of panic shot through her chest; she hadn’t expected anyone to notice.  
“It’s OK,’ Tara reassured, reading Astrid’s expression. “I don’t mean to pry. I was just wondering if you had any tips for me. I’ve been trying to experiment with coloured lighting.”   
Astrid barely noticed the tension leave her own shoulders, as the cogs whirred in her head. The kid wasn’t judging; she just wanted advice. That couldn’t hurt, could it?  
“Shove over,” Astrid said finally and the kid wriggled over to make room for Astrid to vault over the back of the couch and plant herself on the other end of the seat. Tara produced a box of watercolour pencils and the pair got to work.   
For the most part they worked in silence, the gentle scratching of pencil on paper the only sound between them, but occasionally Astrid would chime in to give advice or point out which parts of the drawing the light would fall on. 

Astrid couldn’t really remember a time when she’d sat like this with someone other than her sister, curled up on the couch sharing quiet conversation. She wasn’t one for closeness. She valued her personal bubble. But where people like Fay made her want to punch someone in the face rather than stand too close to them, Tara’s presence was more bearable, almost inviting. She wasn’t trying to drag Astrid into uncomfortable conversations for the sake of including her. Astrid could respect that. It made her a whole lot easier to be around. 

Tara was squinting strangely at the page, tilting her head to one side and then the other as she drew like she was trying to see something Astrid couldn’t. For a moment she stopped and rubbed roughly at her eyes, then picked up the pencil again and continued.   
“You alright there?” Astrid asked, raising an eyebrow as the girl brought the paper right up to her face, still sketching.  
“Sorry,” she said quietly, dropping the page down to her lap again and squeezing her eyes shut for a moment. “It’s kinda hard to see the drawing past the bloodstains.”   
Astrid… wasn’t sure how to respond to that. Tara stared at her page in her lap for a long moment, her pencil no longer moving. Astrid could tell by the look in her eyes that she was no longer seeing the drawing.   
“I think there’s something wrong with me,” Tara confessed, breaking the growing silence. Astrid straightened from her slouch and directed her gaze towards the younger girl. She still sat staring stiffly at the sketchbook, but Astrid could see the storm of thoughts behind her gaze. “And I don’t just mean the hallucinations.”   
Tara turned her head suddenly, and her startling blue eyes locked with Astrid’s. Somehow, despite their striking colour, they seemed exceedingly empty.   
“I think something’s been wrong with me, and has been for some time. I think…”   
She paused, her eyes narrowing at the brightening glow on her wrist. Astrid would almost have called the look a scowl.  
“I think that the Mark is a jerk and I have another mission,” she glowered, before disappearing in a flash of light, leaving Astrid alone on the couch with her sketchbook.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: I need a name for Tara's therapist.  
> My brain: Call him Greg. Greg Jeff. Gregory Jeffery.  
> Me:... I cannot currently think of anything better to call him so fine.  
> Me: *Is somehow now attached to the name*

Tara landed roughly on a couch in a professional looking room with purple curtains. There was a coffee table in front of her, a man stacking furniture at the door who was now staring at her like he’d seen a ghost, and some rather lovely knitted cushion covers. In the corner was a desk with a name placard reading ‘Dr Jeffery’.  
“Is this therapy?” Tara blinked, extracting herself from the overly soft couch cushions. “Did the Mark… Did the Mark actually send me to Therapy?”  
“What the fu-” the doctor whispered, his eyes the size of dinner plates. His half-moon glasses were slightly hanging off his nose by this point, but he made no move to fix them.  
From somewhere in the corridor, an unholy screech sounded, somewhere between a banshee and a pterodactyl, but nothing like Estelle’s trademark shrieks. A second later came a definitely panicked scream.  
“Nope,” Tara complained to herself, already stomping towards the door, which she was now noticing was barricaded. “It sent me here to deal with whatever that is. ‘Scuse me,” she said, squeezing past the catatonic doctor to shove the bookcase barricade aside and wrench the door open. Poking her head out into the corridor was probably not the safest idea if some monster was raging out there, but she needed some way to see what was going on and just stepping completely out without looking first seemed like an even worse idea. At least this way she could pull her head back in if necessary.  
At the end of the corridor was a humanoid figure, hovering in the air, black tendrils floating around them while their eyes were swallowed by the same wispy black. They wore what looked like business attire, at odds with the bright red stains painting the fabric. In their grasp was another limp figure, blood dripping from what was left of their face in streams onto the floor. Tara was pretty sure this time she wasn’t hallucinating.  
“So,” she said conversationally, trying to hide the way her hands shook and her breathing seemed too fast. Immediately she ducked her head back in the doctor’s room, slamming the door shut again. “That’s a thing.”  
“What the hell is happening?” the doctor (Jefferey, is it? There was a name badge on the desk.) choked out, finally looking as though he were able to move, at least a little.  
“By the looks of it, you have a demon problem.”  
“A demon?” He sounded as if the very sound of the word hurt him, and something clicked for Tara.  
“Oh sugar,” Tara cursed, “You’re not a Wielder, are you? You’re a regular human.”  
“You say that like you’re not.”  
“Um… yeah this is gonna sound crazy, but I think after seeing me teleport into your office and there being a floating possessed figure out in the corridor, you might believe me, so here’s the abridged version,” Tara rambled awkwardly. She was not qualified for this. “Magic exists.”  
“Uh huh,” Dr Jeffery nodded numbly, mouth agape.  
“I’d love to explain more, but right now you have what looks like a powerful possession demon outside your office and I’ve sort of been sent here to banish it.”  
“Is that a knife,” he squeaked, pointing to where her blade was sheathed on her belt.  
“Yep,” she replied, too emotionally exhausted already to be anything close to her usual shyness. “You might want to hide under the desk,” was all she bothered to say before unsheathing her knife and re-opening the door. 

*

Was it bad that Thalia wanted to know her apprentice’s location every second of the day so she could hover over her like an overprotective warrior mother? If the Mark ever deigned to show its face in a corporeal fashion, Thalia was planning to give it an earful about running solo missions for new recruits, along with a nasty black eye. There were plenty of Guardians to spare, so what was stopping it from sending a minimum of a pair on every mission? (Although even that wasn’t enough, in Thalia’s opinion. After all, Bella and Rose had gone out in a pair, and they had never come back.)  
She nearly had a heart attack when Tara reappeared a few hours later in the common room, half drenched in blood, half splattered with black goo, and looking like she really needed a nap.  
“What happened!” Thalia cried, knocking over the coffee table in her haste to stand up. A new dent was added to the growing collection, but Thalia wasn’t overly worried about that at the minute.  
“The Mark dropped me in a therapist’s office. I thought it was actually letting me get help.” Her voice was flat, the expression in her eyes screaming that she was 100% done with everything right now.  
“And?” Thalia pushed, aware her voice was becoming quite shrill in her worry. Could you blame her? The kid couldn’t have got covered in blood from a freaking therapy session.  
“And it turns out it just wanted me to deal with the receptionist at the clinic who got possessed by a demon and was going on a murder rampage.”  
“Wait, you know how to exorcise a demon?” Astrid cocked her head.  
“I never said I did.”  
“Then how…”  
“I yelled at it and ran around until it got mad enough to leave the receptionist’s body to come attack me in its true form. Then I stabbed it and set it on fire and it exploded.” She held up her silver knife, which was stained to the hilt in black goo that was most likely demon blood.  
“And the other blood?” Thalia asked, wary that her heart was still pounding harder that it should in her chest.  
“”Like I said. Demonic murder spree.” Tara deadpanned. “Oh, and I had a nice chat with the therapist afterwards once it was safe for him to get out from under his desk. He’s booked me in for another session next Tuesday. His name’s Dr Jeffery but he asked me to call him Greg because I saved his life. He has purple curtains. I need a shower. Also sleep. But that’s probably not going to happen as I just got an impromptu science lesson on what the insides of a human being looks like, so... ”  
And with that admission, Tara shuffled off to clean herself up, leaving Thalia no less worried than when she’d started. 

*

Alexis Mae was sick and tired of filing papers, but the pile on Kenin’s desk was now larger than he could handle and he was busy passed out next to the coffee pot, the dark brown liquid staining his crumpled tie from where he’d spilled his latest batch. Several of the other officers had snapped pictures, but ultimately they’d all taken one look at the overflowing stack of files on his desk and divied up the workload. Sighing, Alexis flipped through another case file, flinging her long ponytail over her shoulder. A slight tingling sensation had begun in her eyes, alerting her to the beginning of a change, and she quickly squeezed them shut, forcing herself to remain in her current form. It was uncomfortable, sometimes, staying in the same form for so long when she was born to move fluidly between them, but she wasn’t exactly comfortable revealing her shapeshifting abilities to her new co-workers just yet. She had a feeling they’d want to put them to use somehow. Prank wars were never a good thing to get involved in as a newbie, even if she would absolutely wreck everybody else.  
Frankly, pouring over these files, Alexis could see how her boss could fall asleep at his desk so often. The esteemed detective was snoring quietly, hugging the empty coffee pot like a teddy bear. She wondered if he ever went home, or if he even had a home to go back to. He must have, if the family pictures on his desk were anything to go by, a faded portrait of him and his partner hugging their young daughter. Alexis had snuck a peek when picking up the files.  
“Hey, Val, have we got any new evidence recently on the Sinclair missing person’s case?” Alexis called to the purple-haired officer at a desk on the other side of the office.  
“Nope. Not a thing,” the woman called back, slamming a stamp down on the file she was working on with a little more force than necessary.  
“Guess I’ll just add it to the pile then. I swear, I’ve added more files to the unsolved pile today than I’ve ever chucked on the solved heap,” Alexis complained.  
“You and me both, sister,” Val sighed “It’s getting worrying.”  
“You’ve noticed the connection, right?” Alexis continued, picking up another info packet and sliding over to the other officer. The bullpen was fairly empty at the minute, most Magma Corps officers off on their lunch break.  
“Connection? You’ve found one?”  
“Well, nothing groundbreaking,” Alexis drawled, flicking open her new folder and scanning over it while she talked. “Just that they’re all convicted felons. Either that or they have a current warrant out for their arrest. Huh,” she paused, finally taking in some of the file in her hand. “This one’s not a missing person’s case.”  
“Wow, it’s a miracle,” Val deadpanned. “What is it, murder? Petty theft? Misuse of magic in a non-wielder setting? Come on, don’t leave hanging. The suspense is killing me.”  
“Don’t be a drama queen. It’s just a Wielder profile. On a Royal Guardian, of all people.”  
“Oh, yeah,” Val shrugged, aggressively date stamping another folder hard enough that Alexis was convinced the date would be forever imprinted into the woman’s desk. “I heard Kenin was aiding the Mark Bearers on an important case of theirs. They’ve got a couple of new members, he’s probably been putting together their profiles.” Val’s eyes suddenly brightened at the thought, and her hand shot out to relieve Alexis of the folder, only for Alexis to yank if promptly out of reach. “Give it here,” Val whined. “I wanna see what he wrote about them.”  
“Hey, I got it first,” Alexis evaded.  
“But Lexiiiiii!”  
“First of all, don’t call me Lexi. Call me Lexi and I will break your face. Secondly, the file’s on my pile, I get to read it.” As if to make a point, Alexis flipped the folder open, blocking out her colleague’s glare. 

It was a well-known fact among the Magma Corps agents that any profile written by Kenin himself was worth a read, if you could get your hands on it. The chief detective’s magical speciality was identifying and classifying other Wielders’ powers, which frankly Alexis didn’t think was all that special, but the other agents seemed to find it pretty cool, so… Time to see what all the fuss was about. Plus if it annoyed Val that she wasn’t the first to read it, well.. Bonus. 

The first file in the folder belonged to a ‘new recruit’ by the name of Estelle Fir. The name seemed familiar somehow, and it didn’t take long for Alexis to realise that Oh it’s that Estelle. Apparently Amaryllis’ nutcase daughter was a Guardian now. Wonderful.  
The neat scrawl, almost impossible to distinguish from typed text (and isn’t that a change from those scribbled cursive fonts he uses to take notes with, deliberately illegible to stop suspects from prying) was printed on the smooth company paper. Alexis wasn’t sure why he didn’t just use a computer like a normal person, but apparently he liked to make slightly less neat footnotes and commentaries on his profiles, so Alexis just had to deal.  
“Could you at least read it to me if you’re not going to let me see,” Val huffed indignantly, blowing her obnoxiously purple fringe out of her eyes. Alexis rolled her eyes.  
“Nope. Deal with it.”

Scanning the documents, Alexis not only picked up information about the new Guardians, but about Keninn himself. Like the fact that he seemed to simultaneously hate and want to protect the lunatic Guardian Estelle, and that he seemed to feel her secondary speciality of manipulating crystalline structures was severely underused in her fighting style. He seemed particularly irked by the selection of a gung-ho red-head by the name of Natasha Willows, making particular note of her tendency to run at everything remotely threatening with the intent to fight it. The detective seemed to take particular… interest? (at least it seemed like interest, mixed with a good portion of parental rage that this kid was even allowed to hold a sword) in the last newbie Tara Willows (another Willows? Was she related to the first one?). Her broad range fire speciality in particular had drawn his attention, the detective commenting that his assessment placed it closer to energy absorption and manipulation than straight pyrokinetics. If she were about 10 years older, his notes said, he might have recruited her himself. As it was, though, his view was that every one of these Guardians was far too young to be anywhere near the field. 

Alexis was too absorbed in reading the documents and relishing in Val’s annoyance to notice the presence behind her, an aura of pure uncaffeinated exhaustion. A shadow fell over the words on the page, and a hand appeared to pluck the folder from her grasp.  
“Whilst I appreciate the effort my agents have gone to in order to lighten my workload,” Kenin grumbled, “I would prefer it if you consulted me first about which files are up for public reading.”  
“Yes sir, sorry sir,” both Alexis and Val chanted unison. Kenin heaved a long-suffering sigh, rubbing sleep from his eyes. His professional suit was rumpled, his badge crooked on his breast pocket, the silver MC initials splattered with dried coffee like the majority of his tie. 

The whining of an alarm saved the pair from any further reprimands, Kenin tilting his head to the roof as if begging God himself to strike him from existence.  
“Um, sir, the alarm is..” Val began.  
“I am well aware that the alarm is blaring, Val. I have ears.” Quickly snapping back to his professional persona, Kenin removed his stained tie from his neck and straightened his badge, turning on his heel to stride towards his office. Alexis could barely see the bone-deep exhaustion he had just exhibited as he yanked the station microphone from its holder, his other hand retrieving a side-arm from his desk draw. Whatever the major event alarm was alerting them to, Kenin obviously intended to attend to it himself. Briefly, Alexis noted the incident location that had appeared on the office map, a bar near the site of the most recent poacher incident.  
“All agents,” Kenin announced, the message being relayed through the speakers positioned throughout the Magma Corps compound. “Please report to the main office for immediate assignment. And Rojer, “he added, his voice losing some of its authoritative edge. “It’s your turn to refill the coffee pot.”


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, big content warning for this chapter. Graphic depictions of violence once again. Morgana is having fun and that is never any good for anyone.   
> That being said, this chapter was also really fun to write.

Poachers were boring people, Morgana was beginning to realise. Sure, the hunt itself was fun, the whole chasing down fantastic creatures to slay them for trophies bit, but once that was done, well… the poachers themselves were just exceedingly dull.   
Morgana examined a crack in her nail polish for what felt like the tenth time that hour, watching a pair of hunters slogging it out in the corner, the smell of alcohol heavy in the air around them. Their stench filled her nostrils, and she crinkled her nose against the odour.   
“Do you lot do anything else besides fight, drink and kill people?” Morgana whined. She pulled a knife from her baldrick, intending to use it to pick at a spot of dirt beneath a nail, but there was a chip in the blade, the smooth triangular-shaped metal marred by an ugly crack. Morgana glared at it as if her gaze alone could force the black blade back into shape. She must have hit one of those damned unbreakable bones when gutting that little faerie.   
“Not that I’m against fighting, drinking and killing people,” she drawled, grabbing another shot from the bar and tipping her head back, letting the strong liquor sear her throat. “But even I like to mix things up a bit. Play a board game, topple an empire, torture some innocent people, or guilty ones, I don’t mind. You wouldn’t happen to have a game of Monopoly around anywhere?”  
“Quit your whining, witch,” a particularly brave poacher growled. (Or, at least, that’s what she chose to hear. He didn’t really call her witch. In that sense, she’d probably call him more stupid than brave.)   
Morgana slammed her shot glass down on the bench, the rattling of the other cups the only sound in the suddenly silent room. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she soaked in the sudden tension the room had to offer, eyeing the smear of lipstick on her hand, deep scarlet against her skin.   
“No Monopoly then?,” she sighed. “Too bad. I don’t see any empires around here either, so looks like we’ll be going with option 3.” 

A blink of the eye, a movement too fast to see, and the offending poacher was face down on the bar, Morgana’s fingers tangled in his unkempt hair. The man snarled, blood pooling onto the rough wood from his clearly broken nose. The other poachers were shouting, and from the corner of her eye, Morgana watched a pair bolt for the door. It didn’t stay open long enough for them to make it out, a flick of the witch’s wrist setting the heavy lock in place with a loud, satisfying thunk. A game was no fun without anyone to play with, after all.   
The offending poacher was still face down on the bar, spitting curses while his nose bled. Morgana wrenched his head to the side and leaned in close to his ear, savouring the way it made him tremble.  
“Boring me,” she whispered, close enough that he’d feel her breath on his skin, “you could have gotten away with. But then you had to go and insult me. That,” she stroked her chipped blade slowly down his cheek, biting back a grin as his panicked eyes followed its movements. “Was just plain stupid. Especially when I’m already bored.” 

A flicker of movement on her left. There was a poacher, a brawny individual, clearly more muscle than smarts, charging at her, apparently with the intention of attacking her. How cute. He barely made it three steps before he fell to the ground, choking on his own blood, the cracked black throwing knife embedded in his throat. The others’ shouting promptly stopped after that, and the scramble for the locked door began. Morgana ignored their fruitless efforts and turned back to the swearing thug on the table.   
“We’ll go for the tongue first, shall we? I think the sailor you stole it from wants it back.” 

*

The soft pattering of blood dripping to the floor, muffled by the regular moaning of the witch’s latest victim. Heavy breathing, fear so thick you could cut it with a knife.   
They had invited this monster into their home, and expected it to show mercy. They were fools to think they could control it. 

A good number of poachers were in the private bar when their ‘esteemed guest’ had decided she was bored. The haze of alcohol had done little to dim Kole’s awareness of the horrors before him as he was forced to watch friend after friend fall to the witch’s sick ‘game’. A few thugs had decided to try their luck at fighting her, despite their companion’s earlier ill-fated attempt, and were slain like he was before they could even reach her. No one else tried after that; their weapons were now piled on the blood-spattered bar bench, now tools in their own slow deaths. Instead, they all watched, waiting for their turn.   
Jack was praying in the corner. Kole didn’t know him to be a religious man. Among their rag-tag group of liars, thieves and killers, it was rare to find someone devout. He wondered if it would help, if this wasn’t somehow fate’s punishment for all the lives they had taken. Maybe this witch was really the devil, delivering their punishment.   
He had never stopped to think about what it felt like on the other end of the rifle. He was a hunter. He had never been the hunted. But his prey had been people too, children even. They felt fear, and pain, just as he did. Perhaps he deserved this, perhaps this was justice. People had always said Karma was a… well in this case, it seemed Karma was a witch. 

Johnny drew his last breath. It was a shallow, rasping sound, a half choked gurgle, blood bubbling from the corner of his mouth and trailing down his cheek. The pool of blood on the ground took up most of the floor now; Kole could no longer see where blood smears ended and concrete began. It squelched in his shoes, and filled his nostrils with its metallic stench.   
Movement. For a minute, Kole thought he would see another knife go flying, hear the heavy thud of another body hitting the floor, but instead it was Isaac, throwing himself at the feet of their captor.   
“Please, spare me, I beg of you.”   
Morgana cocked her head to the side, her piercing yellow eyes flashing in the dim lights of the bar.   
“Ooh, I love some grovelling,” she grinned. Isaac choked out a sob, his entire frame shuddering with gasps. A mixture of fear and relief, Kole thought, though relief was maybe premature.   
“Not that it’s going to do anything to help you,” the witch continued, and Isaac’s breath hitched. “But it’s appreciated nonetheless.”   
“Please,” the poacher begged, clutching at the woman’s dress hem with shaking hands. “I have a family, a wife and a child, please, spare me!”   
“Awww,” Morgana pouted. “You’ll have to give me their address. I should probably send them some flowers after all this. Lilies? Is it lilies for funerals?” 

Yes, Kole decided. This was definitely punishment, and worse, he was sure now that he deserved it. Isaac’s screams carried him through until it was Kole’s own turn. Staring into those cold, yellow eyes, Kole had only one thought: I want it to be quick.   
He lunged, not for the door, but for the collection of weapons on the bar. His hand closed around a knife, and that was as far as he got. Maybe it was the alcohol still in his system, maybe it was the relief of it finally being over, but as Kole fell to the floor, he felt himself smile.   
“Thankyou,” he rasped, his body suddenly cold but for the warm blood spilling from his throat. Morgana just stared at him, tilting her head in that strange way of hers, her yellow eyes following him into the blackness of death. 

*

Titania heaved a heavy sigh and rested her head in her hands. Her crown, woven into the braids of her hair, felt like a weight on her forehead. Drained from the use of her power and exhausted from her lack of results, what Titania really wanted was a century-long nap. Only, if she went for a century-long nap, two of her best service-women might never get the proper burial they deserve. Rose’s signature katana was laid across her lap, the sheath flecked with tiny scratches from battle and splatters of nail-polish from poorly-timed mission summons during manicure night. Normally her power didn’t require assistance from the subject’s possessions in order to track them, but Titania was having more difficulties than she ought to, and needed all the help she could get. Still her power could not locate the missing Guardians. Not even their bodies were showing up on her radar. It was beyond comprehension. 

The sweet smell of something baking wafted into her throne room. Titania heaved another sigh and set the sword aside. She needed a break.  
Technically, as the Queen of the Faerie realm, she didn’t have to tiptoe through her own castle halls. She could wear clompy heels that made loud clickety clack noises on the fancy tiles if she wanted, or tap shoes and no one could stop her. But, sneaking up on the baker was always a bit of fun, and she was in need of something to cheer her up, so the faerie Queen found herself slinking along the palace hallways, following the scent of baking biscuits.   
The kitchen was surprisingly empty when Titania inched the door open, but the oven was on, a tray of sweets wafting their tantalizing smell from within. The baker must have just left, probably to get some more ingredients, leaving a freshly baked chocolate cake cooling on the bench. It was too good an opportunity to pass up.  
Quickly checking over her shoulder to make sure the baker wasn’t on his way back, Titania cut herself a sneaky little slice…  
...And promptly received an explosive faceful of glitter as the entire cake deflated.

In the moment of silence that followed, as multicoloured glitter drifted through the air and settled on every surface in the kitchen, Titania could have sworn she heard muffled giggling.   
“Estelle,” she grimaced, spitting out a mouthful of glitter that tasted nothing like the chocolate cake she had been craving. The giggling grew fainter, as if it were moving away, headed towards another section of the castle. Titania ran a glitter-caked hand down her glitter-caked face, really wishing she had just gone for that century-long nap. This was going to be a long day.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I am aware that I have not made any references to Estelle's Tapeta Lucida anywhere else in this thing so the reference in this chapter seems completely out of the blue. I am working on fixing that. It was a relatively recent idea and I am yet to go back and add in references earlier on. I'll get around to it.

Earlier…

“Stealth training?” Natasha repeated dubiously, fiddling with the cord of her headphones around her neck. She had pasted these too with stickers, and this time Tara could make out a few Disney characters among the collage. Amaryllis grinned, her eyes crinkling with a hint of mischief.   
“Yes, Natasha, stealth training. As Alenya house supervisor, it’s my job to take you girls on the occasional training workshop to expand your skills. And today, we’ll be working on our stealth,” Amaryllis explained. She was dressed a little more practically today, Tara observed, her usual crystal necklaces and dangly earrings missing in favour of a comfy-looking aqua turtleneck with billowy sleeves that came in a cuffs at the wrist, and a light coral shawl across her shoulders. Her mane of caramel curls was tied back as well, giving Tara the sense that they’d be engaging in a fair bit of physical activity today.   
“Now, as I understand,” Ammy continued, “You girls are pursuing my sister Morgana in the hope of finally apprehending her. Tara here has already sought to ask me for any valuable information I might have,” she gestured, making Tara blush, “but I thought I could also help by upping my class schedule and working with you girls more often to improve your skills. Sound good?” There was a chorus of nods around the room. “Right then. Get changed and be back here in ten minutes.” 

Tara returned room, the round atrium and soft lilac walls now a familiar and comforting sight. It was hard to believe she had been here for months now, hard to believe she could now throw a solid punch, and that Thalia was now teaching her more advanced kicks and throws. She couldn’t remember when she’d first stopped tip-toeing around corridors and corners out of habit from living with her siblings, fearing someone might jump out and use her as a punching bag. It had to have been a couple of months since she’d stopped locking her door, other than when she was sleeping, right? And even then, that was more out of habit than conscious choice. When did that start happening?   
Tara shrugged away the thoughts, along with the phantom bloodstains on her dresser, and busied herself putting on something practical for their training. A dark green singlet and black leggings seemed appropriate for stealth, and some sturdy lace-up boots. She also snagged a small green neck scarf to hide both the glow of her necklace and the scars on her neck, along with her belt and knife sheath. Couldn’t be too careful, she was beginning to learn.  
She was just preparing to leave when her phone buzzed on the dresser, which was odd, because no one ever called or texted her. The phone was merely a formality from her father after the incident to show he ‘valued her safety’ and that she could ‘call for help if she needed it’. Like that would do her any good. She’d taken good care of it, though, and had bought a little lily-shaped trinket to hang off the case, just to prove that it was something that belonged to her, and her alone.   
Raising an eyebrow, she opened the lock screen, and almost panicked then and there when she saw who it was from. Had they finally noticed she wasn’t living at home? Were they going to file a missing person’s report? Were they going to drag her back home again?   
Shaking her head, she forced herself to actually read the text, and almost sighed in relief when it wasn’t what she thought. Almost.   
Dad (10:45 AM)  
I don’t care that you’ve been avoiding us   
for the past few weeks. But I expect you  
to be here for my press conference on   
Monday. Dress nice and behave yourself,  
then you can go back to whatever little   
rebellion you fancy you’re having. 11:00  
sharp at the convention centre, don’t you   
dare be late.   
(Read: 10:47 AM) 

Great. She had to go play the good, obedient child while her father showed her off to a bunch of politicians and investors for his company as the poor helpless charity project he adopted out of the goodness of his heart. Meanwhile her siblings would be running amok backstage as she plastered on a fake smile and did everything she was told.   
Nevermind, she closed her eyes, placing the phone back on the dresser without replying. I can deal with this later.   
If the others noticed something a little off about her when she got back to the common room, they didn’t comment on it. 

“So,” Tara began, shoving the thoughts of phones and press conferences behind her as she rejoined the group. “What sort of thing are we doing to train our stealth skills?”   
She needed a little distraction right now.   
“Pranking my sister,” smirked Amaryllis. Tara felt herself blink incredulously, while beside her, Estelle squealed in excitement.   
“What?”   
“The castle of the Faerie Queen has many places to practice stealth. The aim is to teach you how to move around and complete objectives without being seen or apprehended. Sneaking around setting up pranks for Titania happens to be a perfect application of these skills.” Amaryllis grinned. “So I want each of you to come up with a harmless trick you can set up that will require you to move around without getting caught.”  
“And… what happens if we do get caught?” Tara raised her hand tentatively.   
“Then I get a long scolding from my sister about the ethics of teaching children to break into secure facilities and you’ll have to make it home without me.”   
“Doesn’t sound too bad,” Thalia shrugged, the hint of a smile tugging at her lips.   
“Sounds fun, actually,” Natasha chipped in.   
“Oh, it will be,” came the somewhat ominous reply from Estelle. Tara felt her tense expression soften at the sight of her friend, who looked for all the world like she was about to burst into mad scientist laughter right then and there. Her hands emerged from where they were buried in that oversized coat of hers, spilling glitter into the air with a gleeful giggle. “Let’s go prank the Faerie Queen!”   
“Oh no,” Tara heard Thalia groan to herself. “What have we begun?” 

*

The air vent was a tight fit for an adult like Amaryllis, though Tara was much smaller and could easily slip through the openings. Amaryllis had to admit, she was quite impressed with the schemes her students had produced, only having to reject one of them in favour of a less chaotic rethink. Fay had wanted to attempt the notorious plot of unleashing several pigs labelled 1, 2 and 4 through-out the halls, however Amaryllis had kindly pointed out that having animals running amok through the castle might defeat the purpose of a stealth exercise. She settled instead for unwrapping every lolly in the pantry, dipping it in chilli powder and rewrapping it.   
Through the vents, Ammy could make out the tell-tale sound of Estelle cackling as she mixed a glitter base for a hollow chocolate cake that was set to deflate when cut, expelling a cloud of (you guessed it) more glitter. She really wished she would keep the noise down. They were, after all, also supposed to be practicing their stealth.   
Now Tara, on the other hand, had the right idea. Ammy was following her through the vents to supervise her plan of sneaking into the greenhouse unnoticed. Something about revitalizing any dead plants using her magic? Ammy didn’t really know. It didn’t sound all that devious, but then again she didn’t really think the kid had it in her to do anything more mischievous.   
The youngest Guardian reached the grate that would lead to the royal greenhouse and carefully slid it aside, then lowered herself slowly out of the ceiling hole. Amaryllis had to admit, for a newbie, she was doing pretty well -  
A squeak, a heavy thud and the sound of something breaking cut off the thought, and Ammy sighed deeply and made a mental note to buy her sister a new plant pot for her upcoming birthday. Oh, that reminded her, she still had to get the girls to pick out their dresses for the party.  
“You OK kid?” Ammy hissed, wary that this was a stealth exercise and she couldn’t downright shout lest they attract unwanted attention.   
“I’m fine,” came the quiet reply. Tara’s voice was always quiet, soft in a way that made Amaryllis think she’d be incapable of shouting. A slight blush crept into the kid’s cheeks as she shuffled to her feet. Then a grin took shape across her features; small, yet sharp, an odd expression of mischievous intent on a face that had previously held only polite kindness. Amaryllis blinked, and the realisation slowly dawned that maybe there was a reason this kid got along so well with Estelle.   
Tara’s eyes flicked to the door and Ammy could tell that she was listening for anyone approaching. When she’d confirmed no one was about to walk in on her, she reached for a plant pot, a shrivelled vine of some sort that had clearly been strangled by the nearby plants, and placed her hand against the terracotta. Sparks flickered at her fingertips, working their way up into the plant, which quickly straightened, a healthy green colour returning to its sickly leaves. As she poured her magic into the plant and those similarly wilted around it, glowing turquoise swirls began to appear up her arms. Amaryllis found herself blinking incredulously yet again.   
“You never told me you knew how to conjure Aura markings,” she gaped. “That’s advanced for someone your age.”   
“I.. I don’t,” the kid stuttered, glancing at her arms with some level of mixed fear and curiosity. “It just started happening sometimes. I don’t know how it works or why it happens, but it’s not really… a conscious thing.”   
“Huh.” Amaryllis stared at her own hand as the glowing marks flared to life on her skin. With several thousand years of practice, she could summon them with barely a thought, the action second nature to someone who’d been using magic as long as she had. She remembered the struggles, however, of her early twenties, when she was first learning how to use them. The hit and miss attempts to conjure them, the tireless hours of learning how to deliberately siphon energy from her reserves to store in the markings, her first time managing to activate both them and her physical magic at the same time and then passing out from exhaustion almost immediately. Having an emergency store of energy to prevent you from over-reaching was an immensely useful skill, but it took a lot of work and training to get there. It was practically unheard of for anyone under the age of 18 to have learned. “Weird.”   
“Weird? Is that… the only comment you have?” Tara raised an eyebrow, now in the process of directing the revitalised plants to grow in a specific formation.  
“I mean, I might have been around a while, but I don’t know everything there is to know about magic. Like, I don’t know why Estelle’s eyes glow weird when the light hits them. I’m not really sure why or how spiderfish exist. Some things just baffle me. It’s weird for someone your age to have Aura markings at all, let alone not know how they did it, so.. Yeah. Weird.”   
“Huh,” Tara said, echoing Ammy’s previous statement. “Also, Tapeta Lucida.”  
“What?”  
“Estelle’s eyes. It’s called Tapeta Lucida and it’s usually seen in nocturnal animals. Not sure why she’d have it, it’s not common in humans or faeries.” She paused, obviously taking in Amaryllis’ slightly perplexed expression. “I um.. I read a lot.”  
“OK,” Ammy blinked again, and the conversation was over. 

Amaryllis took that moment to get a good look at what the kid was growing her plants into, and had to stifle a wheeze. Ok, so she was right about it not exactly being devious, but the kid had a little more mischief in her than Ammy had given her credit for. The next person who walked through the greenhouse door would now, thanks to the tiny red-head’s stealthy meddling, receive a lovely view of a giant cartoon ‘Troll Face’ made of previously half-dead plants. 

The rest of the pranks went similarly smoothly, although it took much longer than they initially thought for Luna to rearrange all of the neatly ordered shoes in Titania’s closet. Amaryllis’ sister really did own too many shoes. And the best part? No one got caught.   
Actually, no, the best part would have had to have been when the group sat back to watch the results of their work, and Amaryllis got to witness her beloved sister traipse around the castle covered in glitter and falling prey to her students’ various schemes. She may have snapped a few sneaky photos of Titania’s utterly ‘done’ expression whenever she stumbled across another aspect of the Guardians’ work. They would be making an appearance and her sister dearest’s upcoming birthday party for sure. 

*

Thalia’s wall was beginning to look like that of a crazy conspiracy theorist, crime scene photos and scribbled notes strung together with string. Her desk wasn’t doing much better, covered in a mixture of abandoned homework from her homeschooling program and case files borrowed from Kenin’s agency, with very little order distinguishing one from the other. Idly, she stared at her laptop screen, scrolling through ideas for formal wear, until she heard a quiet knock on her door behind her.   
“Come in, Tara.”  
“How’d you know it was me?” Tara asked, inching the door open, a phone clutched nervously in her hand.   
“Tara,” Thalia turned fully in her seat and fixed her student with a quirked eyebrow. “You are the only person in this entire building who bothers to knock. The others all just barge straight in, screw privacy.”   
Tara tilted her head questioningly. “But you guys knock on my door all the time.”  
“Yes,” Thalia nodded, her expression softening. “But you’re the only one we do it for.”   
“Oh.”  
“Anyway,” Thalia snorted, “what did you need?”  
Tara paused for a second in the doorway, fiddling nervously with the charm on her phone case, before she finally replied.  
“I was hoping to ask for a favour.”  
“Hm?”  
“I...um…” she hesitated, and Thalia could practically see the nerves radiating from her stiff frame.   
“What is it?”   
“I have to go to a press conference with my family and I was hoping to bring someone along for moral support but I can’t bring Natasha because she would start a riot, so I need someone I trust who is capable of practicing restraint,” Tara gushed, all in one breath.  
Thalia raised a single eyebrow. “And so you came to me, of all people.”  
“Um… yes? If you’re willing, of course.”   
“I mean, of course I’m willing, but you picked me of all people to go to an event where I have to hold myself back from punching people.”  
Her grin must have been contagious, because Tara’s own mouth began to twist into a smile that most definitely held a mischievous edge, an expression Thalia had not expected to see on her meek and mild student.   
“It’s not so much the restraint to not punch them in the face,” she began slowly, the grin spreading, “but restraint to be discreet about it.”   
“Well in that case, I’m in.”


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, this is the last chapter of the mass upload, as I don't have any more complete chapters written after this. I'll continue to upload the draft chapters as I complete them, but there's not going to be a set update schedule.  
> If you actually got this far through the story, I thank you, you are amazing. Any ideas, feedback, comments, corrections or things you want to happen are appreciated and will all be read and taken under consideration.
> 
> If you want to check out any of the character art or ramblings that go along with this story, my tumblr is at  
> https://firelilyart.tumblr.com/

The door slammed open, the frame shuddering with the force.  
“Another lead! Gone!” Kenin swore, storming back into the station. They had been counting on Morgana’s connection with the poacher racket to turn up something, anything, that could help the Magma Corps track her down. But no, the witch had gone and burned her bridges and Kenin was left with yet another complicated report to write up.  
If only she wasn’t so damn unpredictable… 

Kenin froze. In all his raging, he hadn’t noticed that the bullpen he’d walked into was dead silent, and completely, inexplicably empty. Two of the small group of officers returning with him didn’t notice he wasn’t moving. Their garbled apologies at stumbling into him fell on deaf ears as Kenin surveyed the empty office.  
The lights were off, which was unusual in itself, casting the office in eerie shadow. Papers were spread across the floor as though they had been dropped and trampled, and coffee cups, still full, dotted the various desks.  
This was all easily explainable, Kenin reasoned. There could have been a major incident call-out whilst he was out, requiring all hands on deck. It would have to have been a pretty important incident for his officers to disobey protocol and leave the place completely unmanned, and in such situations Kenin would normally be immediately informed. But it was still a plausible explanation, nonetheless. Except... it didn’t feel right.  
“Alexis, sound the alarm for the rest of the building,” Kenin murmured to the officer nearest to him. The woman’s eyes widened slightly, but she nodded nonetheless and rushed back through the small group of officers who had paused outside the door when Kenin stopped. “The rest of you, stay alert,” Kenin ordered quietly, drawing his sidearm. Behind him he heard his men wordlessly do the same.  
Which was when the door to the bullpen slammed shut on it’s own, cutting Kenin off from his officers and leaving him isolated in the darkened office. The heavy thuds of his men pounding at the closed door sent shudders through him, but he knew they wouldn’t be able to breach it. Whoever had shut the door had accessed his special lockdown system, designed specifically to keep even the most powerful wielders out in case the Magma Corps facility was ever breached by hostile forces. The bullpen was supposed to be a safe-room of sorts. It didn’t seem so safe right now.  
As if echoing his thoughts, the lights began to flicker forebodingly, bathing the office in harsh, spadorical bursts of light that did little to ease Kenin’s nerves. He knew the wiring wasn’t faulty; it was almost as if someone was gleefully fiddling with a lightswitch in an attempt to imitate a horror movie effect. The light switch, like the emergency lockdown controls, were located in his office. Kenin tightened his grip on his firearm.  
The short walk between the rows of desks to his office felt like it took an eternity, each step carefully placed so as not to make a sound. Reaching the door of his office, Kenin swallowed the lump of unease in his throat and gently eased it open.

“Hey there, Detective! I hear you’ve been looking for me!”  
Kenin’s gun was up in an instant, trained on the smug face of the woman seated at his desk, settled with her mud-soaked boots perched on his cluttered workspace like she owned the place. Morgana barely batted an eyelash at the gun levelled at her head, instead smirking at the file currently open in the hand that wasn’t currently perched mischievously on the lightswitch.  
“I wouldn’t fire that, if I were you,” she gestured casually to the gun trained on her person. “I hear you’re very attached to your officers and I would hate for you to lose them should anything nasty happen to me.”  
Kenin’s eyes widened, his aim dipping a little, but he refused to put the gun away entirely.“What did you do?”  
“Interesting reading,” she hummed, ignoring the question. She lifted the file for him to see the cover, sending a hot flush of anger through Kenin’s chest. It was his file on the Guardians, his classified file on the children he was trying to protect, and this witch had walked right in and plucked it off his desk. “I don’t get it,” she snorted, either not noticing or caring about his rising anger. “How can your handwriting be so neat and yet so messy? It’s like it’s written by two completely different people!”  
“Morgana Queen, put your hands in the air slowly, I am placing you under arrest for several millennia worth of crimes which would take too long to list right now. I strongly suggest you cooperate without resistance.”  
“Jeepers creepers, they’re so young!” Morgana continued dismissively, squinting at something on the page. “Are they even out of diapers? Who let these kids pick up a sword?”  
“I’ve been asking myself the same question,” Kenin grit out.  
“Oh my! Who would have thought? It seems you and I have something in common!”  
Still she made no move to surrender, and Kenin finally voiced what he knew from the beginning:  
“You’re not coming quietly, are you?”  
“Nope,” she replied, popping the ‘P’ and turning the page. 

Ok, Kenin thought, running one hand through his already disheveled hair whilst the other remained holding his weapon. Ok, he could deal with this, he could get something out of this. He’d been looking for a lead for ages, and now one was right in front of him. He could work with this.  
Hoping Morgana wouldn’t notice the dull red glow of the Aura markings across his back lighting up through his shirt, Kenin activated his magic and levelled his gaze at the witch, waiting for an opportunity for the information to flow in.  
“What do you want?” Kenin said evenly, channeling his authority as chief detective into his voice. Morgana snapped the file shut and met his eyes with her own, piercing golden ones. There.  
_Full name: Morgana Raposa Queen._  
He knew that already. He needed more.  
“Can’t a girl stop by for a friendly visit?” Morgana simpered.  
“There’s nothing friendly about this visit,” he hissed. “What did you do to my men?” Kenin grit his teeth, his magic flooding outward in waves, but it felt as though it was hitting some sort of wall, struggling to drag the information out. He could feel the beginnings of a headache coming on, but kept pushing. It was never usually this difficult.  
“Oh, don’t worry detective,” Morgana waved away his concerns. “I didn’t kill them, if that’s what you’re thinking. I simply suggested they take an early lunch break.” She drew a small knife from her baldrick and began absently fiddling with its point between her fingers. “I can be very persuasive, you know.”  
_Wielder status: Natural born Witch.  
Spellcasting Ability Level: Strong._  
Damnnit, also something he knew.  
“So they’re safe?”  
“For now,” she grinned, cocking her head to the side as she played with the knife. “But that can easily change should your finger slip on that trigger. The only thing keeping my… allies… from feasting on your officers’ innards is my orders, which become null and void the second I’m out of commission. So put it down, big boy, and come have a chat with your new friend.”  
“I think I’d rather hold onto it, thanks,” Kenin replied icily, keeping the gun trained on the woman opposite him. Although, he did reluctantly accept the seat Morgana gestured to with her knife, silently lamenting how it quite easily put him within slashing distance of the witch. The slight raise of her eyebrow at his hesitation, however, made it quite clear he didn’t have much else of a choice if he wanted his officers to remain in one piece.  
_Number of magical specialties: 2_  
Ah, now he was getting somewhere.  
“So, Kenin. Ken. Kenny. Can I call you Kenny?” Morgana grinned at him like some sort of demonic Cheshire cat.  
“I would prefer if you didn’t,” Kenin growled. “Get to the point.”  
“Oooh, touchy. Maybe I’m just lonely and looking for some intelligent conversation? Ever considered that?”  
Kenin levelled her with an unimpressed stare, hoping it managed to cover the flicker of his surprise as the first piece of useful information trickled in.  
_Secondary speciality: Constructs  
Classification: Broad range._  
Ah yes, the family power. The Queen and her sister had suspected as much, having lived with her in the years before she was supposedly cast out, and later fought her as Royal Guardians when she turned towards villainy.  
_Can create solid structures of varying sizes and shapes. Size and strength dependant on energy output._  
A basic power, but a versatile one, Kenin noted, biting back a grimace at the growing tension in his temples. Still his magic felt like it was bashing at a wall, and keeping it up was taking its toll. Just a little bit more. If the constructs were only her secondary speciality, then he had to learn her primary one. In all these years, no one had quite been able to conclusively identify it. Oh, there had been plenty of ideas thrown around. But nothing could accurately detail it like Kenin’s magic could. He just needed to keep pushing. Just a little longer.  
  
  
“Oh my, detective. It seems as though you’ve got a bit of a nosebleed.” Morgana’s eyebrows rose with an amused expression as Kenin’s hand reflexively went to his face, his fingers coming away smeared with red.  
“Just say what you came to say, Morgana, then get out of my station before I decide to call your bluff on my officers’ lives and shoot you where you sit.”  
Morgana huffed a long, dramatic sigh, as though Kenin had just told her she couldn’t visit the playground with her friends or something. “Fine. I’ll only be a minute then you can go get your beauty sleep, no need to get all shooty.” Morgana shifted in his desk chair, leaning right back and hooking her hands behind her head in a mocking imitation of relaxation. “As you may have noticed, I had a liiiiitle bit of a disagreement with a group of poachers I was hanging around with.”  
“You slaughtered half their numbers in a bar, I know, I just got back from there. Half my officers threw up at the mess you made,” Kenin deadpanned. His head was throbbing heavily and he could feel the blood running from his nose starting to congeal on his skin.  
“Anyway, I was wondering if you’d be interested in maybe cleaning up the rest of their organisation for me, I’d hate for them to come after me for revenge…” Morgana paused, her eyebrows scrunching together in what one might almost call concern as she squinted at Kenin’s face. “You look terrible, detective. I didn’t mess you up with those flickering lights, did I?”  
“I’m fine,” Kenin growled, ignoring the way his vision was beginning to blur slightly at the edges.  
“You don’t look it. Look, if you collapse on me, I’m not calling an ambulance, you know. I’m totally just gonna leave you there on the floor, maybe take a picture and laugh.” 

Kenin barely heard that last bit however, instead focussing with widening eyes on the last bit of information his magic finally managed to pluck from whatever wall was keeping him out.  
_Primary Speciality: Stealth  
Classification: Broad Range  
Enhanced senses, reflexes, agility and strength afford her greater stealth capabilities, along with the ability to shield herself and others from various location methods, magical or otherwise._  
Oh. That explained… quite a lot, actually. 

“Kenin? Kenny? Helloooooo? Anyone in there?” Morgana waved her hand back and forth in front of his face, her head tilted at a strange angle that did little to remedy how his vision was spinning. “Anyway, I’m just gonna leave a folder here with some information on the remaining hunters, so if you’d be so kind as to… say.... completely tear down their operations, that’d be great.”  
The witch slid a brown folder across the table, her face slipping back into its perpetual smirk. It took only a second to realise the folder wasn’t really brown, simply soaked so completely in old blood the original colour was impossible to discern.  
“You don’t expect me to thank you, do you?” Kenin snarled through his pounding headache. He’d finally shut off his magic, and the exhaustion had slammed back into him like whiplash.  
Morgana shoved the chair back from the table, her heavy boots thudding on the carpet as she rose.  
“No, I rather had something else in mind for payment.” The witch sidled around the desk towards him, carelessly batting away his gun which now wavered uselessly with his exhaustion. A cold manicured hand reached out to caress his cheek and Kenin stiffened, too tired to pull away any further. “Stop looking for me, detective,” Morgana whispered. The knife in her other hand came up to rest under his chin, the threat hanging heavily in the air. “Tell your little Guardian pals the same. I like my privacy. Otherwise, I may just have to…” she flicked the tip of the blade across his throat, drawing a thin line of blood. Kenin flinched. “Take care of you and your men.”

A bang rang out through the bullpen, followed closely by another as shouts began to echo through the soundproofing of the shielded door as the metal warped. From where Kenin sat, he could make out the shape of a growing dent in the metal, likely left by some sort of battering ram.  
“Seems like my time to chat is over, detective,” Morgana huffed, stepping back and giving him a chance to finally breathe. “My ride should be here any second. It’s been a pleasure, but I do hope we never see each other again.”  
As if on cue, a glowing tear opened in the space behind Kenin’s desk, opening into what appeared to be an endless black void. Morgana grinned and stepped halfway into the portal, sending a mock salute to Kenin while the banging in the background grew in its intensity.  
“Don’t worry, your officers are fine. You’ll find them tied up in the office gym. If one of the gremlins nibbled on a few toes, your health insurance should cover it. See ya never!”  
And with that parting comment, Morgana stepped completely through the portal and disappeared, right as the door behind Kenin came down with a deafening crash. 

“SIR!”  
Through the growing haze of his blurry vision, Kenin could make out the shape of Alexis Mae running towards him, firearm in hand and a line of officers trailing behind her, sweeping the area for any remaining threats. He felt himself try to stand, but his knees buckled underneath him and he went crashing to the floor.  
As his officers swarmed him on the floor of his office and his conscious began to wane, he had one lingering thought:  
What else could Morgana be hiding under her stealth magic that we don’t even know about?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have discovered that I love writing Morgana.


End file.
